Owch. That f**king hurt CLOSED

From watching a comedian describe
stepping on a Stonefish as
"The worst pain known to man"
I was intrigued as to what your
worst pain experience might be so far.

I'd love to see some prose, poetry or even a short story
in which you describe the worst/funniest/scariest or even
down-right silliest pain you have ever had the misfortune
Of feeling. Maybe it's from a random freak accident or
from love/loss.. I'm not fussy, just tell all!

Looking forward to your entries
and you may enter more than once.

(how rude that sounds.)

Have fun

pain

my skin screams when you grab me
you attack my neurons, slowly invading my muscles
iron fingers assault my bone, I know
it's long sleeves for a couple days

When you hit me, it's different
The explosion of blood vessels, blood
rushing, instant swelling, eyes fuzzy, graying
I fade a little into the death of me
Fall back out, and stare

And you step on me in language, I feel
the lump in my throat that threatens tears,
the words shouted in my face, words that
cut the soul of me, big fat fucking bitch

You made me a wife; the crying miserable
heap of a person/shell crawling toward and away from you
you made me a mother, maybe the only good thing you did
besides leaving, you were really good at that

You left me alone,
rejected, humiliated, left for emotionally dead
abused, defiled, bruised, broke and bleeding
Then you walked away

JUST PAST DEATH :

To awake from the depths of sleep
To find Death came to you once again
But it wasn’t you that it came for
To stand there and feel it all
Knowing there was nothing left to do
For the Angel once again made the call
It came to take away part of your All
To feel all the pain of another
To feel all the emotions all the rage
To have your heart wrapped within the cage
To look onward and pray wanting only
for one more day
To awake from the depths of sleep
To find all that is left is memories to keep
To fill the tears gently weep
Wanting only to stop moments of time
To touch death to watch it again open the door
To sit there shaking cause you can’t stand
To reach out asking him to take your hand instead
To wake up to life and realize for years, you were dead
To feel the pain of another to try to take it all away
Asking for only one more moment of another day
To see his smile to hear his cry , not lost with questions why
To feel every emotion inside , try so hard to hide
Wanting only to go back in time, before that day
Wishing there was some other way
To touch death as it opened the door
To here it only to say you have life more
To see it come and watch it go
To wake up from the depths of sleep
Knowing all you can do is gently weep
For the memories that you keep
15 August 2011 ARHC
***

Thank you , so far!

I was dropped off a few houses away from my own,
pretty sure that only myself and the female driver knew
about our little excursion.
Half an hour later I'm laughing along with guild
when the doorbell goes.
I get up and walk to it.

The umbrella missed my head by a couple of unforgettable inches,
but the barrage of claws and fists worked their way as intended.
Then I was on the bed relying on my stone face.
It kept coming until I felt the first the tear land on my forehead.

I had no words.

I sat with her and smoked
hearing the bullshit in each one of my apologies.
She opened the forty pound bottle of wine
she'd bought me for my birthday
and said it would be our last.
I let her drink her
until she laughed.

It had taken her this long
to learn the real me,
and I was just being reminded
of it
once again.

Misconception

Run with the knife
In the front yard hypnotized
Drugged beyond blind
Holding my life within your hands
Rescue me somebody...

Trip scared to death
Blade runs deeply sublime
She cried out in agony
Reaching closely towards her side
Blood was dripping heavy...

I am not the cheating kind
They got into your head
Laying stiff, slowly dead
I'll whisper your last rites
Get up now, hold my hand...

That grave remains lonely
Help can come deathly late
If only she'd have listened
I'd still have her heart
Instead I possess nothing but dirt...

Today or Yesterday, I can't tell.

right now I'm drinking freshly made coffee
in a downpour between poems read
thinking about why I have tears in my eyes.

I thought about when they told me I was an awful person,
that I was a disgusting one of many people. though young,
I recognized it as more than child's play
for it wasn't just from twisted children
with faltering parents; anyone I disappointed
gave me the same eyes. the eyes telling me that whatever love was
didn't exist in real life, and that I was just a pawn
in a game that didn't play itself out properly-
I might have been too young to know that it hurt
and I can't say that knowing now makes much difference,
because with all knowledge comes doubt
and that hurts too.

I have fallen many times, and each time I have stood up
but I try not to remember
when I was pushed down. there was once
when the back of my head hit something hard,
but I had already been crying before the gesture was made
and it's harder still to say what I think to you
after all these years. though I did never cry
or even wince at the thought of him trying to tear my clothes off
when I was just barely a teenager. but now I shudder as I write
when he and I had smoked a cigarette after meeting at a book store
that I had watched him lick his lips
before he had brought me to his house.

I thought about then, I thought about now
and it all hurt the same-
except now I'm writing poetry, I'm out of coffee
and nothing is the same anymore.

Great so far

Just for your viewing pleasure: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qenzQaXM6Pw

violet said:

Just for your viewing pleasure: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qenzQaXM6Pw

Self Inflicted


Pistol whip me in the flesh of the neck
then grind my feet through a bed of coral.
I will lose less from the precise cut of a razor blade
or a 20oz Sapporo (half full, mind you), over the head.
I would have welcomed those pains -- they heal.

Oh, how it smarts to fumble three miles back home
in isolated humiliation that no one can truly see
for I mask my pain well, with a sheepish grin
or an askance glance.

The walk, liberating in a way
dampened the idiocy of my lacking attentiveness.
But the return trip was full of anxiety
and my high had worn off.

My car, that still roared with muffled angry tones
when I left it, had gone silent.
With the spare keys I unlocked the door (the bane of my current predicament)
Attempting to turn the engine was a futile effort;
the battery had died – oh sweet poetic justice!

Had I remembered to grab my wallet
containing the AAA card with five free tows,
I would have prevented the intensifying sting of pain
that sank into my ego, as I pushed my car
back down the hill of my discontent.

I ran into a wall
-----------

misjudged the entryway.
dropped the book I was holding.
stumbled to the bathroom, fumbled for the switch.
stared in the mirror for 5 to 10 minutes.

the blood kept coming.

eventually
it stopped, I didn't
really need it much anyway.

the book was Tennyson.

I haven't read him since.

-----------

100 juliets


When I was 16
I put an axe through my hand
hard enough
that the axe-head stuck into the chopping block
with my hand still skewered
under it
 
I had to put my foot on the block
then pull the axe handle up
a sharp jolt
that did plenty more damage to the meat
of me
 
then the blood really started
 
running for help
when you are bleeding out
is tricky
 
get too excited
and your heart will empty you
during the run
 
don’t get moving quick enough
and you’ll die
before you get anywhere
 
so I paced
slow enough
to leave a solid line
of blood  
 
to an old lady a few doors over
who dropped her iron on her new carpet
when I fell into the house
already losing
my grip on the world
 
I could tell you
about the 2 times
I got laid from this act
 
or the reputation I earned
as too crazy too fight
after I waded into a school-yard brawl
a week later
 
or even how hard a young man cries
when a doctor tells you
you might wake up
with no hand
 
but none of that shit
is interesting
 
I did learn
though
that heartache
is nothing
and I’d break up
with a hundred juliets
before I’d ever
put my hand
back
on a chopping block

9mm Matricide:

Skinny shaft boiling hot
Each shot a reminder
Smoking intentions
Burning into murderous fingers

One ricochet bouncing back
A hole punctured through the heart
Warming fluid revitalizes
Screaming until silent...

An ache gives way blinding
Blurriness fades eventually
Hardened criminals do time
Unless they run fast enough...

Catch up confidence
Resist arrest...
Confess the guilt
It ran through this mind before
Deader than cold can ever be...
Failed actions deserted...
Sons are all killers!

Somniloquy

I remember waking.

Fifth year snapshots.

Leather shoes with straps and leotards.

Stephanotis garlands in velcro hair.

And I asked her " Will you finally be happy when he kills me?"

Analyzed 31 strides the answer has come
in looks and silence
in barbs and fever
in passive obstruction
and rind.