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Pains

unendurable, long and exhausting

are the pains

presumptuous in their plenty

such are these pernicious pains

that swarm in a slivering hiss

upon dark and lurking shadows

aesthetically applauding themselves

as they push here and there

in their wounding commentary

of painful narrative

agonising enough to reduce

the soul to debilitating bouts

of disagreeably damaging experience

with startling exaggerations

that produce disgraceful extortions

upon mind and body

squandering unbearable isolations

fragmenting the cracks

in a delicate structure of personality

uprooting it from a sanctified paradise

providing instead a monstrous, shameful loathing

that makes one choose to become another

other than those unthinking

other than this misery of anguish

other than this pain

deliberately to provoke an anger

the other with ingratiating timidity

or rebellious defiance

favouring a rejection of

all resentful obligations

all that is distasteful

all that is not worth carrying out

such as with a contempt

that allows one to escape into an emptiness

of the ridiculous and the impossible

through thoughts to an absurdity of beliefs

through the deserted streets

the neighbourhoods of the lie

pass the filthy inadequacies

of obscene caresses

where one is mocked

by exquisitely satisfying ******

of vicious pains

pains that control behaviour

freedom of movement

time and space

who appear at corners of the mouth

where lurk sarcastic secrets

now I know in these horrors and torments

that time has stopped in all dimensions

eternity has ceased

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Written by
edgar-whitman-wilde
Irish
Published
Apr 19, 2015
Lines·Words
51·235
Permission

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