if pain could write,
it would look like crumpled papers,
tossed in the basket.
if pain could speak,
it would tell me that I am no good,
with my mother’s tongue.
if pain could cry,
it would leak like a ball point pen,
on white paper.
If pain could see,
It would seek out,
my dark brown eyes.
But,
pain is pain,
and this aching affliction,
has no bounds
and
knows no end.
so pain, is pain,
Is pain,
Is pained.