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Description
if you can't say where it hurts, is it wrong to talk about the pain?

you pay for the ice cream, sit and stare up at a pretty something
pain is not something from the outside
our own minds create it
the psychological manifestation of an outward stimulus of pressure or temperature
but it's all around
and round
and round
the ice cream is cold

you heard about the earthquake and saw the photographs
and blood in the newspapers
and they really do just sit there and wait!
for...?
if their thoughts can dance they give nothing away

a breeze makes the scarf sway up in the tree
and another stranger across the world clings to another scarf
maybe because it's the only one they have
and maybe they're just a child
your hand is numb

warm-dark-hat-and-coated you worry over a painfully pink scarf
if you leave it, if it tears –
but someone else would always pick it up with
recommended clinical kindness

if they scribbled out a prescription in white coat armour
you'd climb up and rescue the scarf
but they write with the wrong end of their pencil
they erase the paper
instead of help you receive a smile

it is irrelevant that they are doing no harm
it is irrelevant that you yourself are not in pain
life is death is peace is love is karma does not exist, and you are always
diagnosed with the same thing

the ice cream drips suddenly into your lap and
your appointment with god is over
this week another liar prescribes:

Description
if you can't say where it hurts, is it wrong to talk about the pain?

you pay for the ice cream, sit and stare up at a pretty something
pain is not something from the outside
our own minds create it
the psychological manifestation of an outward stimulus of pressure or temperature
but it's all around
and round
and round
the ice cream is cold

you heard about the earthquake and saw the photographs
and blood in the newspapers
and they really do just sit there and wait!
for...?
if their thoughts can dance they give nothing away

a breeze makes the scarf sway up in the tree
and another stranger across the world clings to another scarf
maybe because it's the only one they have
and maybe they're just a child
your hand is numb

warm-dark-hat-and-coated you worry over a painfully pink scarf
if you leave it, if it tears –
but someone else would always pick it up with
recommended clinical kindness

if they scribbled out a prescription in white coat armour
you'd climb up and rescue the scarf
but they write with the wrong end of their pencil
they erase the paper
instead of help you receive a smile

it is irrelevant that they are doing no harm
it is irrelevant that you yourself are not in pain
life is death is peace is love is karma does not exist, and you are always
diagnosed with the same thing

the ice cream drips suddenly into your lap and
your appointment with god is over
this week another liar prescribes: