The ache is old
And deep-seated
And cold
And numbing
And uncontrolled
And heavy
And bold.

It hits as if Thor's hammer is
Striking his enemies who have somehow
Taken up residence
In my heart.
And he must obliterate them.

I wish the doctors could find a way to fix this.
But it seems they are as lost as I.

So I greet this ache as I would Death:
An old friend,
Yet one I had hoped to be far less aquatinted with.

This ache is old,
As old as I.
And it always will be.