Rubbed Raw and Cut Deep

I’ma tell ye what some might call a sad story. Sad for me anyhow. I’ma tell ye the few words what were written out te me and which I read - words what rubbed me so as to make my flesh raw - words that cut right down to the very bone marrow. I tell ye what those words imparted te me - I tell ye just what they did. They rubbed me raw and they cut me deep.

The man in question wrote te me just before the sun comes up around my region of the world. He says te me that I lost the plot and broke touch with reality and sorry bud and so on. It matters not just exactly what he said. It was the meanin’ behin’. A meanin’ I could see clear as a lamp. They meant that I was lost, delirious, and in quick need of being sequestered. I tell ye just exactly what it did to me to read those words. It rubbed me raw, and it cut me deep - right down te the bone deep.

And what’s more, the cowardly man I might have called my friend, deliberately severed contact. He made me out to be some contagious leper, to be ignored and quietly reviled. He launched a tactical assault. The fool would confuse his cannons for welcome wagons. His concerns were cannonballs and they sought mortal wounds. There was no mercy, no path to retreat. I tell ye just what it did - what effect it had - it rubbed me raw, and it cut me deep.