Pain?

Pain is temporary.
Like the broken heart I once had to nurse.
No Tylenol or panacea
No Penicillin or cure-all or magic antidote to take to cure the shooting pain when you cry at night.
It's a different kind...
like you feel your broken heart in your throat and your tears in your stomach
And suddenly you regret having that conversation with jimmy, Jack, and Johnnie, and throwing yourself at Jose.

And pain?

Pain is something different when you feel all alone
on that...no-one-understands-me hype
And you're under the impression that ANYONE could be your type
If just for the night
Right?
And wrong never looked so right.
Right?

And pain?

Pain is the morning after when you're throwing up the conversation you had with Jimmy, Jack, and Johnnie and cursing the love you made to Jose.
And the one night stand with this...was-my-type-last-night, but now you can't see why...
Hoping you used a condom at least...
And retiring your beer goggles for the next four hours before you start it all up again.
And finding some God-forsaken way to get his fatass out of your bed.
And once you do, you stand in the shower scrubbing shame off your body...like you could...right?

And then you start to feel numb like the shame is who you are and you embody it, or rather, it embodies you and you start having different relationships with Don Julio under the Blue Moon next to a Mirror Pond sitting with a Black and Tan man who's hoping for an X-Rated Milagro to happen with you after you Bomb some Irish Cars and to the the South for some Comfort...Sitting in his Sidecar, you forget what pain is and let this buzz take you to some sort of random realm of false hope and heaven.

And if problems were meant to be drowned in alcohol, why do you have to find out the hard way that your problems are such good swimmers?

And they permeate into your blood...becoming a part of you.

Pain?

Pain isn't a song. It's a playlist entitled "Less than Backslash Three" because while your heart is broken, it bleeds Pretty Wings and Hopeless Love. It makes you feel like you Don't Want to Have Friends yet you beg for respect On Bended Knee and makes you see The End of Everything You Loved. Then Mr. Brightside asks you, "Where Did My Baby Go?" And you answer, "Down that Midnight Highway," Hailing the Heartbreaker from your Empty Apartment where you were left to become Portions for Foxes.

And yet, even If It Kills You, you say Goodbye and try to Get It Together because Everybody Knows...even though nobody really knows.

And pain?

Pain is when you love someone, but want to hurt for them.

Love is masochism.

And Pain is the virus that comes after.

It seeps and seeps and you wonder...
If Vodka is an antiseptic, why does it not cleanse your sould of the dirty remnants of your masochistic past?

Pain?

I think it's a figment of my imagination.
Because pain...is temporary.
Like the tears you cry will dry.
And the headaches go away.
And eventually,

Pain.

Goes away.