Ache

What cruelty couldst I have earned

To suffer, night by night;

Whose malice hath I earned

To be so flatly spurned,

And for my suffering unconcerned?

If lesson be, have I not learned?

Is no end yet in sight?

Against each wretched, painful bloom

I wince with quiet cry;

Curse this mortal tomb --

This horrid, toxic womb --

Please-- just take me to my doom

Let not my light the dark consume --

Lest my soul ossify.

O, to wield a surgeon's knife

And slice my spinal cord;

As freed from pain and strife

As any other life --

If not, then let me leave this fief,

Escape this shell of torments rife,

And fall upon a sword!

Drastic, yes -- or better yet, 

Have both legs removed;

I'll bleed and scream and sweat,

But pay in full the debt --

Keep my senses keenly whet,

And take what respite I can get

To have my life improved!

But alas, this is my fate:

Rot in private hell;

Locked in mutual hate,

(A furious stalemate);

Nothing left to do but wait,

End it now, or amputate

And all my woes dispel.

Nearer to the witching hour,

My faculties unsound,

Of circumstances dour,

I beg and plead and cow'r 

Summon forth whatever pow'r

Remains within my ivory tow'r,

Waiting to be found.

To fight it is to no avail,

This ever-shrieking ache;

My bones so tired and frail

Behind my painful veil

No matter how I scream and wail,

Agony e'er shall prevail --

And all my spirits break.

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- © Jackson Cambridge, 2016.