Sick Game

Pain is supposed to be something of endearment,
But somehow,
We have all become pain seekers,
Masochists that don’t avoid the pain of everyday actions we once knew was no good for our own well being.
We allow ourselves to wallow in self pity and pain like some sick game that we can never really win.
But we still continue to put a coin in and get upset when the clawed hand rips at our hearts but drops nothing for us to keep afterwards.
Just a permanent mental image of us banging on the door of our soul,
Trying to get a part back that we were never supposed to give away.
That same part that another peal of pain will rip away and fold back,
Giggling as it eats away at your life.
Silly Little Pain!!
You aren’t supposed to be anything to us for we keep ourselves guarded,
Never open.
Yet the feeling you always tried to avoid somehow creeps upon your shoulders,
Slowly changing your posture to mirror the appearance of failure,
Of unbridled pain upon someone’s carefully contained heart that cringes away from the sudden change of its feeling,
Morphing the look of contentment within to anguish and anxiety on the outside.
Pain controls the dials of life,
Making every single person a part of its own sick game.