On never-there-pain

Pain is born in the head, and then it goes and makes the body sick.

I'm Always one step ahead of the pain. Hunt it down with a knife to my head, to my stomach, poking to test where it could hit me. 

Hand in hand, helping it search for its mother, pretending it is mine for a split second. 

The worst is yet to come, but when it doesn't I have lingered in its favorite place long enough to know the smell and taste, shaky breathes have sucked it in, stuck it in my throat, everything I swallow holds particles of it.

The worst is yet to come but I've already raised its child. 

(1985 MB AB EB Miami Disneyworld Epcot)

My hands rest on top of my belly, I lay all day, hurting, swallowing thoughts that ought to extend to dead cell hair and die when they fall out. But I have them wrapped around my finger, twisted them out. Same fingers stroke my belly, press down. they probably enter through my mouth though, I'm always picking the skin on my parted lips, so many words await on my tongue.

I have stomach issues. have I said that before? I cannot stop bringing it up. because I'd want something else to come up, my throat to screech like a fork over a plate.

there are holes unlike exit wounds on my heart. its not that something poked into it rather something sneaked out.