My body is an iron maiden, sharp
And pointed pain that pierces through my back
And pointed pain that pierces through my back
And legs. What? Shall I slide down this rough scarp,
Attempting to escape my body, rack
That wracks me, in the hope that other pain
Will wrestle me onto another plain?
I wrestle in my bed with no one, throw
The blankets as I turn and writhe and groan
And turn with tight-backed movements they made slow
Until the aches and needles throw their last stone
And I am pushed into a sleepless sleep
Discomforting my night until I weep.
The pain of spirit and the pain of mind
Arose and were resolved and humbled me--
The pain of body now has joined to bind
It all. How shall I be an escapee
This time? The badlands stretch and crumble down
Beneath my feet, beneath the star-dusk gown.
There's a brazen bull that bellows through the night
And keeps the mind awake--I fail to pray
No more--I am the prey of pain's delight
In being senseless, pointless. It will flay
Me, try to slay me, but I will not slip--
The scarp is steep--I live upon the tip.