broken molars, broken hopes

the one thing worse
than the consistency
of chronic pain
is the brief times
the pain goes away
instances of happiness
afloat on winds of joy
upon which the inevitable
return of agonies
is made more poignant
in its insufferablity
the metal spikes driven
deeply as the lid of this
ornate iron maiden is
slammed shut repeatedly
if you sit perfectly still
do not breathe deeply
or allow yourself to think
the tetanus settling in
is only a minor inconvenience
compared to the morning
blood eagle rite performed
to greet the rising sun
an overload of voltage
crackling on bare nerves
a series of purple sparks
strobing through these
sleepless nights on the rack
each joint pulled from
their sockets as the
chains strain to pull tighter
dreaming of kneeling in
pitiful piety before the
wooden frame of the last
working guillotine in texas
in a parody of prayer
hoping for a quick end
knowing the blade is dull

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