I have traced the lines of Pain like an Opera,
in rises, in falls, in stays,
how its healed, and how its driven insane
every type, and every name:
 
I have felt how it strums at the sinews,
watched it strip at flesh in waves,
taken the best, also broken the worst,
heard it wail in many ways.
 
The hurt on the face of vengeance,
turned friend, soaring his rage;
who had stolen his child, away in the night?
it rings that this he’ll kill.
 
How to hold a frightful note a’ steady
in declining, easing away
as the foundation that keeps you erodes to dust,
all to cling is to bony skin.
 
Felt the ground open up to swallow
the blood of mine faith, vibrato
at the sight of betrayal, a slip of lips
into the arms of someone else.
 
Whether sourced by hate or sorrow,
or shame; a life hollowed
by seeking its own death -wanting lines
not deceiving- not being true.