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there is a moment when pain becomes something else.

Take my word for it,
you never want to go there,
and it certainly isn't worth the trip

But it is sweet.
Sweet pain.

it is after the anger,
after the bargaining has been rebuffed,
after the begging stops,
and the pleading goes unheard,

there is a moment, fleeting,
just a gesture away from the place
where pain and death become a united force

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I approach the point of ice-white sharpness
where pain and ecstasy merge
into a convulsion of sensory overload

and I am in another place.

Pain is a door, and the Mystic Half of me pushes me through.

This isn't shamanspace, this is something else
like being too stoned to follow the lyrics
or too drowsy to catch the meaning in a phrase
or too drunk to walk the line
all at once

There's shitloads of noise
and almost no signal
but when the PainGod talks
I listen up.

I can't put the message in the poem
if words could say it,
there would be no need for all that damned pain.

But it is there, and it is dark,
cold and deep.

pain is pure.