On the destructive potential of words

Sticks and stones
Leave bruises, blues.
But words, they scar,

They sting
Like bees in a box,
They cut

Like pocket knives,
They choke
Like a noose.

Tell me, do you think
Before you open
Your cold lips?

They are frozen blue
They wound.
They kill.

Eight hundred thousand every year
Do you hear their silence?
This is not how we do.

We wield a terrible strength
Untethered, it stampedes
Feral hooves

Are you not concerned?
Are you not worried?
Are you removed?

The next one might be you.