Someone I Used To Know

You peppered me with a spray of you’re not good enough
And showered me with the bullets of never-ending self-doubt
Until my torso and very being was riddled with them.
If words were wounds,
I’d be a fallen soldier on a dusty battlefield
Or a corpse discarded carelessly in a mass grave,
Merely a victim of your own self doubt
And inability to know how to behave.
But I’d be free.
And no matter what weapon I use,
I can’t dig those words back out.
I’ve tried flushing my body with toxins
I’ve tried scratching...