The way words can sting worse than cuts and blows from blunt objects is such an odd thing.  How they can hurt so deep without a physical presence, yet you can still feel it slicing you inside is a marvelous feat.  The psychology of it is fascinating.

I don’t know you and you call me an asshole and its nothing.  Not a drop of sweat or second thought.
Say the same thing and reference a sore point and I wince in pain, shut down and hide.

Words can be venomous when spit from the right mouth.
Words can be poison when kissed from the right lips.

Is it lack of acceptance?  Shame?
Are the pointed words towards little bubbles hovering over a persons head so sharp they stick in like thistles?  Burrowing into your skin and as hard to remove as a porcupine quill.

The words won’t ever not hurt because they weren’t supposed to happen.  It wasn’t supposed to go this way and you were supposed to still be here.  We should have been going on and even though that was an impossible dream it didn’t need to end like that.  Even though you came back around yesterday, the words still hurt and they always will.

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