Master Pain

My constant companion is Master Pain.
He slipped through a door I forgot to lock,
Eased into a chair in front of the fire,
Kindly poured us both a glass of champagne.

His hands are not gentle, my handsome swain;
They are knotty and rough, bruise my pale skin.
And when feeling callous, invade my thoughts,
Poking fiery digits into my brain.

I curse him, my language foul and profane.
He laughs in my face, taking no offence—
He has heard it before and will again.
My ranting and raving is all in vain.

Together we ride a cold, hellish train—
No stops, on until the end of the line.
Hands clasped like lovers, me and Master Pain.

©2022 July Day


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