Flesh meets flesh
The cruelest insult
Physical pain subordinate
To the lingering wound on the soul.
Words are spoken
Only sound, ghosts in the nether
Yet they burn with fire, scald with temper
Break the brittle ego
Dim the fires of the heart
And then, those eyes!
A glance tells all
The final dagger, the mortal wound
The words that say, slowly, clearly
I hate you. You should die where you stand.
This is the language, the world of meaning
I understand all too well.