People dissapoint, they scrub your skin with words
I don't want to turn to stone, too many things hurt
I want to be like the soft curve of a pillow
But I must join the earth, to be as standing and un-upset as rock
Rock does not hurt, it doesn't injure, but I do.
I feel the constant chilling burn of depression, and the prodding of a razor, and if that isn't enough then the occasional punch in the stomach from a few words now and then.