There is no physical body here
Only emotional bandages:
Layer upon layer added
With each critical cut of your tongue.
Your fits of anger now linger
On the outside, barely visible.
I remember the first bandage,
The beggar in me pleaded for you to stop -
O, the panic that swelled from deep within.
And your need to be right added
Suffocating layers over the years.
The slashing of critical words
Didn’t damage my physical body,
No one could see my pain,
But those slashes have left scars
Deep wounds that may never heal.
Now you’ve made your own critical error:
I take this razor blade, plunge
It deep within my chest, remove
My heart and smash it
Into your damnable face.
I cover my self-inflicted wound, turn
And walk away, just as you made me: heartless.