Language of Pain


It’s not a beautiful poem.
It’s ugly,
and wretched.
A reminder of failure,
pain is the frowny face
on hospital charts.
A language that dances
along the nerve lines
and never seems to fall free.

Like the friend nobody wants,
pain is a constant reminder
at least I’m not dead
At least, I feel.
At least.


One thought on “Language of Pain

  1. At least, indeed. The very pain we curse is every much a blessed reminder of our existence. I feel these words. Well-written, dear friend–slow, honest, exhausted. It reads tired, like one who has been in pain so long that it is the only reality they can see.

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