Welcome to the Pain Circus

I crashed into the Pain Circus when a rock cracked my skin and flashed a shinbone the color of blood-shrouded teeth in a ragged mouth crimsoned by rouge pumped out of my heart. I screamed for the audience, believing my pain to be unique in its wrath.

Innocence and ignorance are kissing cousins. Reality’s an unwanted child that shits all over your best suit while giggling at you. But you accept the little bastard because you (and the rest of us) can’t thrive without its crap.

I live in my Pain Circus, collecting screams, ripping art out of agony’s gut, spelling hurts, using rage and will to feed the fire fueling my ink.

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the wee notes…
– inspired by my first memory of excruciating physical pain. Before that, I had suffered a burn or 3, and had lived with a skin disease that could’ve probably won me a shambling role in The Walking Dead, but… the shock of seeing my tibia exposed has made this incident one of my most vivid memories of physical pain. I’ve suffered more serious injuries since, but for some reason this one always bleeds brighter than the rest. No idea why…
– for the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads.

these deliciously creepy postcards, by Mizna Wada,
are a gift from my sweetest and dearest, Mistress Emma,
of Groovy Gothic. Thanks a bunch, Emma love.

65 thoughts on “Welcome to the Pain Circus

  1. oh! God, this is painfully beautiful, you have portrayed the pain in words that effortlessly flow. may you get well soon.

  2. Whoa! This is a truly amazing piece! Such a visceral portrait of pain! Wish I could take the pain away, but you’ve managed to wrangle it into breathtaking art!

    And you know I’ll always send you eyeballs, my lovely! xo

  3. Innocence and ignorance are kissing cousins. Reality’s an unwanted child that shits all over your best suit.. am going to spend the rest of the day trying to decide which of those lines is more gorgeous than the other! Great write!

  4. How does that song go, the first cut is the deepest … Never such red again, such shrieking clarity. Dip a pen there and the poem grows wings wide as the Earth.

  5. This is why happy airheads are at the beach instead of at their desk writing. Turning pain–physical or emotional or both–into something else, something creative, is like a finger to the obstacle. It’s a win.

  6. The pain circus seems like the stuff of nightmares, but fortunately you can turn a command performance into fuel for amazingly raw pieces like this one.

  7. “ripping art out of agony’s gut”… What else can one do with reality (that “unwanted child,”) right? We all deal with it the best we can. Artists seem to make the best of a bad situation.

  8. I like how you describe reality in this fiery and earnest prose-poem❤️ it strikes a blow to the head when we least expect it. The pain you describe is the stuff of nightmares and I wish with the bottom of my heart for you to be freed from it. Beautifully executed.❤️

    • I, too, hope you never experience that. It isn’t pretty. And I think it’s easier to get over such shock–physically and mentally–when one is young. I’ve no idea how my body would deal with such a thing today.

  9. This sizzles with intensity and feeling, Magaly–sudden, excruciating pain is unique, and has a way of taking over everything, making everything else appear faraway and small, unlike this poem which magnifies and clarifies instead. That’s called art, or something, and you are very good at it. I just regret that so much of it comes out of the deep well of hurt.

  10. Yes, I too live with pain every minute, hour, night and day. I know from where you speak although I also know yours is yours and mine is mine. I love your words that express the reality of this. I hope in some way your distraction by writing, practicing your art, is not only cathartic but assuages the physical pain. Gracias for sharing your lovely words with us.

    I have not written in my referenced blogspot site since nov. of last yr. for my reasons.

  11. The most awesome statements, “Innocence and ignorance are kissing cousins. Reality’s an unwanted child that shits all over your best suit…” So true yet I think only you could have summed it up so well. Yes, this is life. Big hugs my friend!

  12. Pain like this is art… yet something that I do not want to experience, no matter how much it would improve my write… a slow ache is something else — that is something I know well Fantastic poetry

  13. I think we are all acrobats, clowns or horseback riders in the Pain Circus at some time or another, some more than others. Your description of the rock cracking your shinbone made me wince, Magaly, and your pain was unique in its wrath – you felt it.
    I smiled at your description of reality.
    Keep using your pain to fuel your ink, it is unique.

  14. No! not the shin bone!!!
    reading this brought back memories and sympathy pains from cracked shins and torn flesh.
    Emma’s gifts are perfectly creepy:)

  15. *am now humming a song from MCR…blood, blood gallons of the stuff. I give you more than you can drink but it will never be enough. I give you blood, blood …blooooo…ud!….so grab a glass because there’s gonna be a flood! :)*

  16. I’ve learned more about pain than I ever expected to this last year – and some shocks never wear off, like seeing a gaping hole where my thigh muscle used to be. We heal, we scar but the psyche is never the same again. You poem took me back to that place in one easy bound.

  17. I live in my Pain Circus, collecting screams, ripping art out of agony’s gut, spelling hurts, using rage and will to feed the fire fueling my ink.

    That is right Magaly! The fire keeps burning always as long as the rage is unsatisfied!

    Hank

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