They Know Not What They Do

Their words are worse than a razor's edge,
Slicing the soul with each swift syllable,
Leaving the listener torn and bleeding,
With a broken heart, incapable of regeneration.
Another day should bring new hope,
Instead it brings the certainty of despair,
The certainty of more damaging remarks
That hurl the listener to the bottom of an insurmountable chasm.
The listener is suffering, more than anyone can know,
Suffering in silence, appearing unaffected.
And so with the dawn, the light of a new day,
With tongues of steel, they speak their truths,
Leaving the listener to die.