If you asked me, I’d say,
words fracture and weapons impale.
It is easier to take out a weapon;
because the wound it leaves does fill up.
But words settle into your conscious,
like tar, dark and viscous.
They resound like a gong,
never-ending and reverberating;
grating along the raw edges of hurt feelings.
Words they litter,
nesting in little nooks and crannies,
eroding their way in.
Like phantom pain-
it’s there but not really.
Suvarna Singh
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