To the Pain

To the pain.

I’ll explain.

Small words, and soon, 

You buffoon.

You’ll lose your feet,

No more walking on the street.

Then your hands above the wrists,

No more clapping, no more fists.

Next your nose,

No more blows.

Then my tongue?

Wrong, you putrid pile of dung.

Next your eyes, first left then right,

A rough existence without sight.

And then my ears, I suppose,

The same sad fate as my nose?

You are wrong, I’ll tell you why,

Because you’re such a horrible guy.

So you will hear each scream and shriek,

From everyone who takes a peek.