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Pain is Relative

November 4, 2011

Pain is relative

What am I? What’s my definition?
Can a man be defined with words, or
Only through a life?

Upon me painted grey, depression
Painted red, hatred unresolved
Painted purple, my gaping wounds unkept
Smeared with yellow, my fear of tomorrows failure undefined
Smothered in guilt, brown and black, my crucifixion

The ugly mess lives, dies, stirs, and lives again
Horrid, my real self hides
Rarely glimpsed by but a few “lucky” friends
Through the shell…so thin and warn yet known as me
My way, my intent, my shield, my mask, my other self, but smaller

Mind walk – I pass my tragedies, living in the rich not so recessed parts
Vigilant, anxious to compete for my days of weight, ready to rend my soul again…recrush my splintered bones and withered will.

What more than repetition will do for I who accept the rusted nails with tears and resignation.

Pain is relative


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One Comment
  1. Like flickers of light bursting in to a darken room forcing you to face a day you would rather ignore the pain is there. The emptiness of the room greets you and you can not escape. The thunder dancing through your head is a sound only you can hear. Resounding like great symbols that which is pain continues.

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