The day began with a dream
In it a man walked in, pistol in hand, laughing
And when he pointed the gun at me
In this moment of terror, I woke up
And instantly regretted it
As excruciating pain wracked my back
Worse than I had ever felt before
And my teeth would clench no harder
I worked my fist into the offending muscle
Trying to stifle a cry of very real pain
But my back refused to let up
And laughed at me
Though I didn’t know backs could laugh
When despair drives me to insanity
I always think it the worst pain imaginable
But in the throes of physical torment
This thought seems ridiculous, childish
As I clutch my back
And a sob escapes my throat
The pain constant, pure and unrelenting
Then I wish for the man to come back
And point the gun at my pain-twisted face
His finger on the trigger,
The tiny thing that can end it all
And I wish with all my heart
That he pulls that finger back
Mercifully
As I croak, “Please, no more . . .”
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