Pain

A distracted creature he is indeed,

Fleeing at the sign of trouble,

He escapes pain, engaging in little pleasures,

In sex, in films, or by reading books,

He chooses not to confront pain,

Picking to fly instead,

A coward to put in in short,

He lets his mind well in pleasure,

While hoping the pain to pass,

Upon his return, intoxicated, he finds,

That pain still does remain,

He also sees, in his sight,

A chunk missing from its waist,

There he find the key to quell,

The pain that seems to forever dwell,

Clouding memories of his past,

And so his pulls up his socks, hoping to act fast,

Pain passes in pieces,

Blocking his breath in its way,

The lump it makes in his throat,

Hurts bad, but goes,

Leaving behind hot lessons to cool,

Pain goes when faced and embraced,

In pulses, now and then,

But what it truly needs, to go,

Are time and lots of sleep.