pain poetry
 

Pain is something I don't quite understand:
If you receive it, you break;
If you are broken, you crave it.
But it is this bizarre object -
If that is its form -
That forces men to cower in their beds
And behind corners.
Beauty is another thing I cannot comprehend:
It is not unlike pain,
In the feeling of striving for everything,
Nothing!
So much that you are crying, breaking, bleeding;
The world goes on still.
As we bleed from these orifices
That we chose to create;
We chose to hurt,
Because we crave pain -
We are dying.
Madness if a term I have come to desire:
I draw it like strings of lies in a web
From others' mouths,
For I cannot bear the thought
Of living without it;
I must live in the knowledge
That I have no hope but scars,
Until my mind chooses no more hurt,
No more breathing.
Choice is an ability, I skill I have mastered,
But also an entity who has mastered me:
I have chosen to listen to those voices,
Yet me mind tells me to
Overcome, succeed... surrender!
Do I know what love is?
True, no one understands its nature,
Or its tendency to ruin;
To spoil and sour and take apart
By the seams I sew on myself.
Life is a creature
I strive to kill -
To defeat, eventually, gradually...
Finally.

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