hank

still feeling ill

I don't know who put this pain

inside me and why.

I would not of chosen this luck
for my damned self
if I had it any other way
but there isn't any other way
and as such things must be:
lets call this pain Hank

Hank

is always there and
he sits quietly in a folded chair
smoking cheap cigars 

"Here I am!"

he'll say, sexless and

profound

to drive you mad

or worst,

into the noose

of the hanging wind

"But no! 

that's not so bad..."

I say,

"Lets make it a quick and

senseless death.

to where my love sits quietly

with dark brown eyes in the murdered light"