Pain Pavilion

Forced with heated hands
to setup shop in the higher heart
I am left to wait
for the ticking
dry paper sounds
that tell me that its done
that love is sleeping
I hear words
and see voices that tell me
'you're alive'
or 'it could be worse'
but they dont live inside me
I have been torn from myself
and now i'm unknown to all
but the ground
(my bed)
where my skin invites mud
and sharp rocks
while I weep red ink
from all but my eyes
and I will walk the pain pavilion
one hundred days for every sigh
until loves alarm alights
and sends you home to me