These
silky
smooth
syrupy
words
shine
for most.
For the powerful,
they are a weapon.
For the weak,
it is what kills them.

Words are amazing;
they can do
so much
and
so
little.
To find the right ones is near impossible;
they always seem to be right out of my            grasp.
They are so easily misinterpreted,
what was meant to shoot someone up,
instead,
tears
them
down.

I misuse my words often,
for I am of reckless nature.
I often equip them as my weapon in this constant battle
they call life.
I am an incredibly accurate ******,
my words hit the heart easily.
I keep reloading my pernicious gun
without checking to see how many I wounded.
I walk right past them.

Not a care in the world.

My friends have started to disappear.
Is it I who shot them down?
But I was aiming to make most laugh,
not tear a few apart.
And now, my anger is boiling -
why should they find offense to what I said as a
meaningless joke?
Or maybe I should not joke with these
wretched, wicked words that have hurt so many.

As I sift through the rubble,
searching for remains,
I begin to wonder.
What it was I said
that killed them.
Im slowly realizing
how much pain
my words
really cause.
Every time I muttered
I
hate
you
I shot you down,
until you could stand no more.