Pain

Written by: Luminita Stoica

Your mind hurts, stung by worry needles,
Your trembling hands grab your bursting temples,
Your forehead is a flaming grill where thoughts entwine, 
Your lips are swelled and dry, they crack from every vine,
Your legs can't move because your feet are light as led,
Your hair roots feel as knives thrust in your head.
Your heart is pumping sand with rocks instead of blood,
Your memory encounters only  sad events singed with mud.
Your whole existence feels pitiful and grim,
Your body's a sombrero, pain dances on the brim.