Wrinkle Poem by Aram Stefanian

When you wince in pain, rely on your endorphins,
Your helpful analgesic pals inhabiting your brain.
About their existence you probably don't know beans,
But they're tiny intrepid warriors fighting the pain.
It is fear that replaces suffering trying to possess you,
Disguised as your dead valentine in nightmarish dreams.
Even after you're awake, the morbid visions appear anew,
And your rational conscious comes apart at the seams.
If you always thought you were the master of your own fate,
It is painful to accept blindly that you are mortal.
You have an everlasting soul, and it is never too late
To identify those karmic mistakes which seem fatal.