Worse than Pain
May 1, 2015
Sticks and stones may break one’s bones, and words may hurt like hell,
But when one has one’s soul torn from one’s body, all’s not well,
For when one starts to think and feel in a way one’s never done,
Something more demoralizing than pain tends to overcome one—
Not a sensation by any means, but rather a lack thereof
Where one can’t feel the slightest thing—not joy or comfort or love
Or pride or success or satisfaction or elation—anymore…
Just an emptiness that rings throughout the person’s hollow core,
And in such hollowness can breed something even worse:
A lack of remorse for deeds foul that’s proven to be a curse.
Gone is one’s sense of morality and hence one’s guilt and shame
As well as the notion of doing things to cause others grief and pain,
For grief and pain are now alien when it all comes down to one
Who can no longer feel them oneself, for such feelings are done,
Even though for all purposes, one wreaks of negativity—
Of bitterness, rage, disownment, loneliness, and so on, you see.
After all, what else could cause one to lose part of one’s soul
But a wave of hurtful emotions that turns one’s heart black like coal
And depraves one of the feeling of anything warm and kind,
Leaving naught but the shell of a once-caring human being behind?
Such is how I feel nowadays, at least, when I think of you
And try to remind myself that I’m happy you and I are through,
For there was a time when I loved you—no more nowadays, though,
No thanks tome waking up to what you’re truly about, you ho,
Hiding your true self behind a mask of sweet sincerity
When you’re naught but a superficial bimbo in reality,
Dying your hair and painting your face ‘til I can no more recognize
The soul I once saw in you beyond your glassy mannequin eyes
And donning slutty outfits that show off skin galore—
Cleavage, bare midriff, extra leg and back flesh, and more.
Don’t get me started, either, with your piercings and tattoos.
Honestly, since when was body art ever the thing for you?
At least your clothes, hair dye, and makeup are all temporary,
But permanently inked and perforated skin is downright scary,
And it all makes me wonder just what I saw in you from the start—
Whatever it was about you that touched my foolish heart
And made me fall in love with you. Seriously, how come
Such a thing happened to me? Was I simply that dumb?
What did I do with the morals and values upon which I’ve lived
For so long ‘til this moment? Just when did my will give?
I know I should be furious and ready to punch a wall,
Even at the risk of breaking my hand, knuckles and all.
I know I should be screaming atop my lungs like a siren
Or even crying my eyes out at how our love is dyin’.
Honestly, though, I can’t do any, for my well of emotions
Has dried up by this point, henceforth my lack of commotion.
Instead, then, all I can do is stare and shake my head
And turn my back to you, knowing all too well what’s now dead
Just like that which I could’ve very well called my soul.
Gone are my fury and sense of betrayal. Gone are my grief and pain.
I’ve lost all sense of feeling, not expecting to regain
A single lick of it now. Forever am I numb and hollow.
Thanks a lot, then, for giving me such a bitter pill to swallow,
For where I should feel hatred—or, at the least, disgust—
I feel only the gush of winter night’s wind swirling ‘round in my bust.
You’ve left me hollow as a reed, and thus, I feel no remorse
In turning myself away from you, which is the only course
Of action I can take now in dealing with your crap
Good riddance, you phony hussy! Such is the point of my rap,
For in making yourself into that which I’d never thought you were,
You’ve done something worse than hurt me, you nasty little cur.
My soul’s now gone, no thanks to you, forever lost in the rain,
And the emptiness I’m now left with is something worse than pain.
Author Pages: Smashwords.com