Life Can Be Such A Pain, In The Can. Poem by Michael Gale

The pain, the back stabbing pain...
Of to me to over take, and gain.

Sharpest pains, that grow in ebb and tied...
Always spread, until I've died.

Always spread, until I've lied...
Always lied and lived hard, this jolt felt, filled, ride.

Where, from it, may i hide? ...
Nowhere, here, or hid inside?

Pain follows me, where ever, i may go...
It's racy, pacey, speed, does it, chase me, so.

I can hide it, under balmy greasy, lotions...
They be, the lies of man, all spoon fed, notions.

Old age can creep up on someone, faster than time's demise...
This fact of life, i hate and despise.

Can't wait till, I'm done and gone...
Then, I'll lie restful, below a better and greener lawn.

The bugs and worms will have at it, a harvested feast...
I'll no longer be known as the ugliest and hairiest and stubbornest, beast.

For, on the morn', that I am lain to rest...
I'll have felt, my bitterest, bettering-best.

Here is something, that i have learned, down here, while, breathing and being, upon this Earth...
The suffering and pain, will not end, until, after, you've, left this life given, gift of birth.