Pain

It’s positively grueling to write about pain,

Is discomfort or comfort the cause of pain?

Plain life seems to be indulgement of the vain,

Popping champagne, rioting campaigns, stepping over bodies slain, is that gain or insane?

What really is pain?

You feel you found your shine, your light; go closer, and she’s plastered on some random dead eyed vibe,

The smile, the eyes, the beauty, it’s impossible to transcribe,

The chase has its own drive, a form of alive,

But her drunken, sloshed mistake will never commit the broken heart to revive.

Maybe it’s my fault for the pain inside,

A chase so fun you cannot train to subside,

Maybe the shackles I have are my own chain,

Maybe I need to control my vein,

Maybe I need to stop the complaints and feeding my brain down this drain,

Maybe, in life’s story, this is only a grain.

It is my time to go through real pain in order to reign!

I ask again,

What really is pain?