Pain,
As described by the magnanimous fool
“With pain comes great wisdom.”
But what if they stick to my lungs
Just like the cancerous puff?
What if it is the
Drowsiness in the disco?
What if it is the,
Flame of the sexcapade?
What if it is
You and it is me?
Who is wearing wisdom then,
Like a scar under the bracelet?
Sirens blaring in the distance,
The moon, shedding the laminar lunacy
Among the streets of the indomitable fear,
The maniac shuddering, stuttering under
The blanket of forbidden pain.
Pain,
Is like pallbearers,
burying the casket of existence
Deep into the labyrinth of enigma.
The bindi on her forehead,
The lipstick stains on his shirt
Bleeds pain, in a convulsion of chaos,
Leaving behind, the trail of
Their rogue reality.
Pain,
Is like weeds.
You can eradicate them
And smoke pots out of it,
Yet it will never leave your square.
I see filthy pain,
Among the faces gliding past me,
Among the creeks of every hospital bed.
Among the crackling of every pyre burning.
My bedroom has a strong stench today,
I saw the mirror burning last night
A rotten smell of ashes,
Ashes of shards,
And shards of pain.
