The Perpetual Promise of Pain

I still don’t understand how anyone moves on from anything, how it could just fade away. To me everything is all consuming. It’s like it’s the air I breathe, the bed on which I sleep and the tounge I use to speak.

This pain feels so deeply woven into my bones, it’s terminal. I don’t know if it’s possible for me to be any way other than endlessly stuck wallowing in pain.

Not just my endless pain, but my mothers pain, my fathers pain, my brothers pain, my sisters pain. The pain of love, the pain of loss, the pain of violence, the pain of history and the pain of what’s to come. I don’t know how to do anything but exist levitating in the perpetual promise of pain.

I’m tired, my mind is so infected and hazed with pain that I can no longer describe or articulate it, or really anything at all. If you asked me where it hurt I. simply couldn’t tell you because the answer is all over . If you asked when I thought it started I couldn’t tell you either maybe it was always there.

Then if you asked what I thought caused it the only answer that I would have left to muster would be everything and anything.