A lie is an airbubble.
Small and insignificant in the grand scheme of things
But in my skin
It goes to the heart.
This beating ball of mush not muscle.
What does it feel like this toy ?
You play with its softness much too much
But a lump will form.
A callous from your callousness
Borne of things unsaid and left to fester in this tangled web of all the things I can only doubt.
I screamed once but now my blood is pooled and cooled and I can only whimper and even that is hushed.
“Oh well.” You said “That’s just the way I am.”
And I suppose I can’t blame the gun when I know it was made of others hands.
Let me not become your weapon.
Let me not shoot indiscriminately because I have been cut.
Bend the butt.
Turn inwards in retrospect and be better this time.