They say that pain doesn’t hurt, when they lure you closer with sweet words of praise. They each say, my blade is not sharp. This is only the way of the world, my love.
And then you turn and spin, turn and dance. Then you sing a pretty song and turn your face away from the hurting beneath each word.
Each word. Hurting. Each spin. Pretty.
They watch and say, this is easy, this is necessary. It is the way of the world, my pet. They each say, my words are true and pure. This is the path that you should walk.
And then you turn and run, turn and hide. Then you stumble far away and cover your face from the hurting beneath each lie.
Each word. Hurting. Each lie. Pretty.
They say that love doesn’t hurt, when they leave you alone with sweet wounds of praise. They each say, my bite is not sharp. This is only the way of death, my sweet.
And then you turn and fight, turn and bite. Then you swing a pretty fist and turn your face away from the stinging beneath each slap.
Each kiss. Hurting. Each glance. Pretty.
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