words which, when you try to say them, send a pain through your body, down your spine, to your extremities.
you find yourself wanting to say it, but whenever it dances onto your lips, a new wound opens. you wince, you scream, you have to dress it, you have to nurse it. you're covered in scars, with yet-more to come. it still lingers in your mouth with a sweet aftertaste.
sometimes you resort to using your hands and your body. the words hurt, but their meaning can be carried elsewise. kisses and caresses don't carry that pain, not usually. the wounds you might acquire from them are smaller. you might be left bleeding after an encounter, but the pain doesn't seize your entire body. mere bandaids for children dress these wounds.
you wonder about a world where the words aren't cursed so. maybe they could just be words. you could just say them. you could just mean it. there would be no risk that they might hear you say something else. they could fill your entire mouth and body at once.
you might search for new words, and for new meanings.