Words cut deep

Sticks and stone may break your bones, but words will stay with me.

I whistle while I walk

Not on purpose

I hardly ever talk 

No I whistle

From your dismal verbal

Assault 

Each word penetrates deep

Stings like bullets covered in salt 

And to make matters worse

It feels like it will never stop 

People hop to conclusions 

Keep making delusions

Thinking they know your life story 

But all the details are blurry 

I whistle while I walk 

Drawing my life with chalk

Only to have it washed away 

From the blood that does spray 

From the hole you inflict 

When you try and depict 

Your sick version of me 

It's so sad, can't you see?

From your bullet hole wounds 

I am no longer 

me.

Reviews

[Sir Drift & Mr. Pulse]

And words carried by the wind tend to circle back to its owner once the year ends. But they wont know, their windows will be open and just when the time is right, it will hit them hard

[Antoñyo]

This got my attention because I recently wrote something familiar, but yours took me to a different place...still, a familiar place and time. A necessary piece I enjoyed reading, Thank you!

[Nina]

Thank you for the read. It means a lot to me. Glad you felt something as well.

[Antoñyo]

You're very welcome