Pain

Drowning is excrutiating. More so in your own blood, Your illusions. Slowly, I hum along to the tune of my own death. What else could a puppet do But dance? Death is a treasure. Peaceful. Life is torture. Unbearable. Ashes lie where a bright flame flickered. Violently extinguished. Choked by a diet of untruths. My endurance is puzzling. Maybe i was ensnared- Irretrievably bound. Inevitable isn't it? To feel the ripping of a heart And the extermination of young emotions. The humming ceases- The end is near. His pulsing palm is where my pump rests. The fiction" I love you," sometimes seems so true. Love is pain. Pain is not love