Ache

Pain is not affliction; it is the cure.

Your pain worsens
It is clear as day
The mutating thing
Writhes and thrashes between your fingers

The razor barbed memories
Of yesteryear
Embedded into today
Profusely bleeding

Spasms of disappointment
Little nothings made of lead
Shacks of the mind, the soul
Fluid and ever changing

Cardinal lines on your flesh
Kissed by knives or nails
Black bruise masks
Gifts from dominating hands

Illness, that vile tree!
Taking root within the frame
Invasive vines of disease, of malady
Spreading

The poison of life
Lucid feelings, healthy shades
Withering, fleeing
Turn away the blade