What Pain Does (pt. 1)
Pain changes you.
Pain screws with you.
Pain makes you different.
Pain fucks you up.
And I’m not talking about some sappy emotional pain.
None of that.
I’m no wimp.
I’m talking about the kind of pain that sends you to the floor.
Pain that liquifies your mouth and dissolves your retinas.
Pain that twists your insides like a wet rag.
Pain like knives,
pain like fire,
pain like swarms of flies.
Pain like you’re a hollow shell,
pain like you’re a bag of rocks,
pain like you’re a tree, rotting, decomposing.
Pain makes you… not you anymore.
It turns you into a creature.
A monster, even.
You shrink into your most primal self
As a futile attempt to shrug this thing off your back,
This parasite with its teeth sunk deep into your flesh.
The pain plays tricks on your mind,
Throws shadows on your sanity,
Lies to you and makes you abandon all hope.
Pain likes to stick around,
Only leaving for a little while
And only coming back when you think it’s finally gone.
(please continue to part II)