Pains Painted On Panes.

It starts like a pinprick, then it spreads through my chest, my being, my existence, heat on butter icing, I'm melting. My veins burning, Mayan poison.
Bile rises, breathing gets labored, the air feels foul as it goes into my already dirty system through lungs running on reserve batteries.
Heart rate spikes, I'm surprised it still beats, but it does in heavy thuds and sharp pangs, I look up on the horizon a dark night rising.
Thought process in shambles, the heart's rebellion shortens the supply of blood to the brain's arteries.

A hundred reasons why I should not hurt ride through my mind, distant hooves. Louder and clearer is the pain.
Just like religion, another battle logic will always lose, pain overrides my brain, overrides logic.
I walk this deserted path in a thunderstorm, I can barely hear the thunderclaps, I can't feel the rain.
Water has lost it's wetness, the rainbow it's color and me, my mind. Feelings murdered. Death in technicolor. Tragic!
I leave the deserted path for my abode, desperately and blindly hoping to open the door to your embrace, your absence brings other feelings. Cold.
Fireplace kindled, but there is no warmth. No, not without you. For me you're pain personified.
I bring out my pen and my dairy, looking to exorsice you from my soul and into papers, lettered in gold.
I set my mind to write out my truest feelings in poem. A writer bona fide.

I drain myself of human senses, blend with the darkness, I achieve zen.
Then I put broken thoughts into well constructed sentences, my heart bleeds ink.
         
Vilest of villains,
Tasteless bouillon,
Filthiest of fragrances, chloroform.
Devil in a red gown, Human form.
It's a cold play me trying to fix you
Broken tap you are can't be hidden. Sad. Blue hues.

Soul returns to body,I retrieve my heart from the golden platter I placed it on for you, chanting my new poem  softly even though it's mediocre.
I'd write you painful masterpiece but unlike Adele i don't thrive on sadness.
Setting fire to the rain  for warmth is not an option, I'll just gently sip my tapioca.
Cold, instead of pain now. I'll just stay in my igloo and keep writing. I'm getting to like this iceness.....