She dealt her pretty words like Blades by Emily Dickinson

She dealt her pretty words like Blades —

How glittering they shone —

And every One unbared a Nerve

Or wantoned with a Bone —

She never deemed — she hurt —

That — is not Steel's Affair —

A vulgar grimace in the Flesh —

How ill the Creatures bear —

To Ache is human — not polite —

The Film upon the eye

Mortality's old Custom —

Just locking up — to Die.