The Punch With No Hand It's not the punch that I'm scared of, It's not the hand or the blade, It's those words that I'm scared of, The ones you seem to crave, I've no bruises or scrapes or sores, To some it's just childish weakness, But the cuts are deepened evermore, As they stare and laugh at 'weakness', I had hoped that you'd understand, When came a river full of tears, From my eyes to flood the land, But your mask didn't hide that leer, Now I pine for older times, When worries were far away, I pine for long gone days, When we'd've smiled and laughed again, -ZenMercury
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