Fistful of Words

If you must hurt me, use your hands
They hurt less than your words.
The bruises that are left by fists
Will heal, but once heard
The venom that you say to me
Will pulse throughout my veins;
The ugly twisted words you say
Become a sad refrain
That loops forever in my mind
And taints days good and bad,
So hit me with your fists not words
Your fists make me less sad.