Pain is born in an instant.

Bright and burning,

consuming all in a brilliant fire.

While suffering is created overtime.

Molded and shaped,

till it shows a warped reflection of pain.

Burning in dry veins,

pain scorches through.

Raging till that’s all that is left.

Icy tendrils lash out,

clawed fingers grip the heart.

Suffering rests at the center.

Rancid stench of sulfur,

pierces the senses.

White hot and blinding.

Suffering curls up from below.

The sickly sweet smell

of roses brown and brittle.

Pain ultimately fades.

A dim light from behind.

Growing fainter.

Suffering lingers,

cloaked in shadows.

Watching every step.

Heat turns to warmth,

settling into bone.

Nothing more than a memory.

The chill remains.

A cold clammy hand,

at the base of the neck.

Sulfuric scent drifts away.

Freshly cut grass takes place.

The smell of new beginnings.

The air still perfumed,

with a trace of rotten blossoms.

Hovering just out of reach.

Pain is born in an instant.

Reminding us we are alive.

Suffering is created in time.

Remaining with us till we die.

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