is it sharp?
is it burning?
is it constant?
is it intermittent?
is it throbbing?
is it crampy?
is it gnawing?
does it spread?
was it always here?
laughing in the shadows,
knowing in the end
that I am in its thrall
the night lengthens
the dawn grows distant
and dreams grow more perilous
hope wanes
but I will trust to luck as always
only fickle fate can guide my way
disordered thought processes
hidden in the seeming chaos is beautiful, elegant order—at least, I hope that's true.
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