She was sorry she had said it, but she couldn't take it back. She lost her temper like a shepherd loses his sheep. It just wandered off and got lost in the cross fire. Anger is the tongue's worst enemy, and a heart has no protective barrier surrounding it. The damage was done, and the mark it made was permanent like a Sharpie identifying a name on a piece of clothing. A slip of the tongue-- Get over it-- she commanded. Although a bleeding heard that has been sliced with the knife flows red like a juicy tomato ready for the eating. Her words spilled into his veins and poisoned his brain, and there was no getting over it. She was sorry she had said it, but she couldn't take it back.