If the mood breaks

Why does the urge to wound feel wrong?
Do harsh sounds jar too loud, too long?
Well then, is this all you are—
sidelong glances, touch from afar?

Let the sting rise, speak your piece,
clutch those errors, find release,
if the mood should crack apart,
I'll hide away this aching heart.
Am I truly what I seem to you?
Tell me, darling... how much is true?

Ah, you raise such welts of doubt—
who wore the first thorn out?
Even if lies should lead astray,
suddenly, for my sake, say
you'd bring a pinch of stolen bliss—
wouldn't that be tenderness?