Living in me is pain
and its known – the wretches of
wretches, are just wretches,

– Remember that! –

The pain of a hundred needles
thrusting into the brain of a miserable
lonely man, prickly pine needles
sit restless in the cavernous
flesh sphere – tears falling from
the glassy entrances to misery.
It doesn’t stop, doesn’t stop –
The torment goes on and on –
No release, no breaks no freedom –
Its constant and persistent, the torture
of falling naked into a cactus over
and over again.
The plight of the sad man –
Is the treacherous trek
that is all too familiar
as the road turns and ascends
the blindness sets in –
the sunsets, the moon snuffed out by the clouds
filling the night sky.
The sad man reaches the peak –
His destiny brightly lit by the frowning sun
Nothing lets him stop, he is forced
to continue, seeing, hearing,
feeling, tasting the tears forming
and falling from the thought of
meeting another anguish-latent destiny –
The wretch of a wretch is just this sad man.