We are married to pain.
A harrowing relationship of toxicity.
A forever maelstrom of “why me”.
Look at you, begging for death to come earlier than planned.
It’s like staring at the knife to do the deed for you.
It’s like feeling grief for the first time with no solace.
It’s like choking on your own ***** while gasping for air.
ill with sorrow.
Knotted with no release.
Kissing the barrel of a gun.
Lust with no body to touch.
You are sick, you never get better, but they say it gets better, trust me it gets better.
Glass in your mouth, cutting your cheeks every time you force a smile.
It’s the bottom of an empty bottle that didn’t drown your feelings.
An emptiness of a bottomless abyss.
A sinking hole in a heart that’s decaying.
Seeing in black and white in a place full of color.
Numbness like the anesthesia you beg for so you don’t feel, can’t cry, can’t hurt.
It’s forever, it’s now, and tomorrow and tonight, for hours, and months, and days.
It never ends, it never stops.
Pain until you see black.
Pain until people cry over your lifeless body.
Pain until crows pick at your flesh.
Pain until you rot.
Pain until life stops.
And then pain creeps into the lives of those who cared for you, now they feel the pain.
Pain is a disease.
Pain is torment.

Tell me again, what did I do to deserve perpetual torture?