"She!"
A pronoun. A simple replacement for my name and I. Shrill and sharp.
"She is terrible!"
I am terrible. She screams it.
I hear it.
One tear.
"She is such a bitch!"
A sharp slap.
It stings and lingers.
Two... three... four more tears.
"She doesn't care about anyone but herself!"
Her lies hurts and strangle.
Chokes escape my throat as my tears keep falling.
And falling.
And falling.
But her hands haven't touched me.
Her hands haven't slapped or punched or hurt.
Only her words.
Only her words have bruised.
But you can't see.
You can't see the bruises left by words.