Knives made of words (Sadness but no sorrow)

Silence is disturbed

by your rising tone

as loudly you lay

above me your wrath

You stab me a thousand times

with your knives made of words

making every single cut

a permanent wound

For there is no withdraw 

on words that have been spoken

and there's no cure

for the heart that's been broken

Not so silently I weep

tears of anger and disgrace

My wounds are too deep

full of sadness but no sorrow

And someday there'll be a chance

for me to sadly display my scars

and make you, with a glance, 

shamefully remember the day

on which your words crossed me

and left holes 'till today.

                                         C.D.