Mr. Cruelty — The Word Sharpened on Purpose

Lyrics

He doesn't listen to what you say.
He listens to what you don't.
The hesitations.
The small omissions.
That's where he finds the stone to sharpen the blade.

It’s a Tuesday evening.
The roast chicken is perfect on the plate.
The wine breathes in the carafe, a deep and trusting red.
He watches you across the table, a slight smile.
Mapping the fault lines in your stories, the hairline cracks in your confidence.
You mention a small failure from 2007.
Just a passing anecdote.
But he holds it.
Turns it over under a cold light in his mind.
He's found the place.

It’s not the shout, not the fist on the wood.
It’s the word sharpened on purpose.
Delivered in a quiet room, perfectly understood.
A small, clean incision of a sentence.
And then he waits.
He waits.
He watches your face close.

Monday morning, ten-seventeen.
The air in the conference room is stale with coffee and forced agreement.
Your project is on the screen.
You’re proud of it.
He leans forward, clears his throat softly.
"Just a piece of constructive criticism," he begins.
And the sentence that follows is a marvel of engineering.
It questions your competence, your judgment, your very presence at the table.
All while sounding like a helpful suggestion.
He leans back, a surgeon pleased with his work.

It’s not the shout, not the fist on the wood.
It’s the word sharpened on purpose.
Delivered in a quiet room, perfectly understood.
A small, clean incision of a sentence.
And then he waits.
He waits.
He watches your face close.

He thinks of it as a kind of science. Social physics.
A study in precise leverage.
He knows the anterior cingulate cortex will ache just the same as a physical blow.
He read that somewhere.
It's a clean wound.
No blood, no mess.
Nothing you can point to and say, "look what you did."
Just a feeling.
A sudden, internal cold.

The cutlery clinks again on the plate.
The meeting moves to the next agenda item.
The world doesn't stop.
But you have.
And he sees it.
He catalogues the slight drop of your shoulders.
The way your eyes find the table.
He makes a small, neat note in his mind.
Experiment successful.