On The Endurance and Cessation of Pain

like rolling waves, surging forward and falling back
pain ebbs in and washes over, receding only to advance
following the pattern of breath (and you hold it
trying to stave off the next crest
and it almost works)

they say it's how to tell i'm alive

it's bigger than its source, a spring overflowing
carving out hollows in your gut with fire
rearranging the architecture of your neck with tensioned lines
setting your forehead alight
and leaving goosebumps on your arms

if the weakness has left, what's taken its place

there is no peace in movement, no relief in stillness
you are made an fragile elder and mewling infant at once
and if you are lucky enough to procure relief
all that pathetic gratitudes ends in an exhausted slump
as your body uncoils like a wrung out towel

i'm not dying, so i must be so strong by now