I don’t mean to complain.
But every time I’m in pain,
It feels like a shred of me dies.
The pain moves,
Along groves.
The pain grows,
And flows.
I feel like death,
I want death.
Anything would be better than this pain.
I don’t mean to complain.
I try to silence myself.
Keep the complaints inside my head.
But I know the pain will come again,
I’m just afraid of being in pain again.
It’s emotional,
It’s physical.
It makes me weep,
Blood and tears.
It reminds me of my messed-up biology,
The mess that is coherent and perfect,
But so painful.
I don’t mean to complain.
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A lovely piece, I can understand the emotion here clearly