this is a kind of pain
I cannot fix.
the gnawing, clawing night
has found an opening.
its blue-black fingers itch for
restitution of my skin I
give it what it craves so
I may sleep.
this is a kind of pain
I cannot fix.
among the grieving sighs of sleep
imprisoned in this mind to keep
the aches and pains of grief
where they should be.
this is a kind of pain
I cannot fix.