Her words are like sharpened knives that slice me open, revealing the red raw of my flesh. They know where the deepest parts of pain lie - it's the first cut. The second rips away the small walls built to protect hidden secrets. They leave me vulnerable; open to hear more words that she screams as she drives another wedge into my heart. It's always screaming. The hate leaves her mouth almost as fast as it does her eyes - it's like a button she presses to reload the ammunition - newer, harder bullets shooting through me, leaving wounds in my chest, stomach, arms. An ever-ready finger pulling the trigger, shooting them out of black, lifeless eyes that don't really see me, don't acknowledge the hurt, but see what they want to see: another unguarded target.