Such little things are spoken words.
Or not: because like iron shards
They pierce the soul and afterwards
They leave it bleeding. It accords
Well with such people to be cruel:
All spite and slander wield they well
With tongues ignited down in hell
They spew out poisonous, verbal fuel.
Those once close – their hate when spoken
Cuts the heart-love at the root.
Their shock-betrayals leave me mute.
Their perfidy has left me – broken.