My pain is radiant.
An endless sunset, brilliant
and blinding, keeping me
on the edge of darkness.
My pain is a seedling.
Perennial, planted with care and thriving.
Climbing my spine, it blooms inside my skull,
leaving my brain full of brambles.
My pain is a deep-sea monster
with strong and abundant arms
that coil tightly about my neck,
threatening to pull me to the depths.
My pain (according to my mother)
is a figment of my imagination,
mysterious and suspect,
but nothing else at all.
I am tired.
I am young and I am tired
and I am afraid that this is all I am:
home to broken parts and
missing vital pieces.
My pain grows as I grow.
Soon, it will surpass me.
Maybe then, I'll rest.