#1817

If I wanted, I could never feel anything again. If I wanted, there are a hundred different ways to shutdown, to shut out, to numb myself beyond all care. Yet I do not want this. I choose pain. Pain means lucidity. Pain means you can think, that beneath the torment you are still in control. Every dull ache or sharp stab of white-hot pain means my body still fights. Could I spend my final months or years in a medicated haze, pretending that I’m not rotting inside? I could. I won’t. I would rather experience every moment of agony with the acute clarity of the dying than relinquish even a moment of control. My lover chooses to drown his sorrows in whatever cocktail of liquor and opiates works best that day, but not me. I choose awareness. I choose pain. I choose to face the end without flinching.

#1605

sad when some pains are preferable to others
like how I can be doubled over from stomach cramps
but wave it off, I’m fine, I’m fine
and I’m learning to live with migraines
when even blinking hurts and all I want is quiet darkness
but this constant, unrelenting ache
radiating through my fingers, my wrists, my arms
living with this six years hasn’t taught me anything
except it hurts to sleep, to type, to drive
to write, to lift, to carry, to push, to pull
to do anything, really, you need hands for
and I can bear a lot of pain in a lot of places
but this one wears on me