A Neuropathic Villanelle


We all have our crosses to bear
I clench tight my fist, knuckles in white rows—
All I can do is sit and stare.

Spitting and popping, my nerves are flayed bare,
I can’t transcend the pain, and I suppose
we all have our crosses to bear.

The smoldering silent biting Night-mare:
Its fire creeps slowly, as if it knows
All I can do is sit and stare.

Only so much and it begins to wear
me down—wordless passion and twisted pose:
We all have our crosses to bear.

When I’m stressed it comes as a white-hot flare,
and when relaxed, sparks as it comes and goes—
all I can do is sit and stare.

Sometimes, I forget I have a hand there—
It’s a little loss of self, and God knows
we all have our crosses to bear.
All I can do is sit and stare.


© 2006

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