Your words may hurt,

When they lash like lightning,

From your mouth to my cheek,

But that's as far,

As they'll reach,

Not one inch deeper,

Into me.

However,

There's always a little,

The scraps from the bottom of the barrel,

That'll stick like a sour'd stench,

Within you.

And there,

They're confined inside,

Six walls,

Solid as steel,

Bouncing around,

An impenetrable echo wheel.

Honestly,

I'm sorry for you.