strange chronic

It's a fucking rainy night, October 3rd, I'm behind on pictures, behind on art, ahead on heart, pain free. The day carried on with a grand rhythmic thump. I hear a soundtrack, it's something of an electronic beat crooning through granite. Thud thud clack doom doom thud thud clack doom doom. It'd be like the sound of falling water on granite from inside the stone, distant but always present. I call the hospital - Buttercup reports boredom and pain, the staples of recovery.
Tell me what you are feeling.
It fucking hurts so much Daniel, I wake up everyday with pain that makes me want to kill myself. This lady next to me is puking and shitting and moaning because she's old. I fucking can't take it.
What else do you feel?
I don't fucking know, they took my eye... I'm just ready to get out of this place. I'm done with it Daniel.
It's not going to be forever, this we know. But if I were asked and I'm not but if I were asked I'd say you are doing better everyday. Even your bitchin' about everything. It's a big difference from going non-responsive to a few words to actively bitching. They took a lot of shit from you, it will take months to feel better. I don't know, no one does but I know this, that this pain won't last forever.
Maybe.
Listen, I know how you'll feel but I must report it, some friends have recommended someone who can deal with chronic pain.
Oh fuck that, fuck that, they have no clue.
I thought you'd say that. I know. They're just trying to help, they want to help.
Oh, I know baby, I know, it's just i can't fucking take this much longer.
You're getting better everyday, I promise.
The night drifts off.

A bum screams from across the bridge, over the tracks. I see but the music is loud and only pierced by commotion. The mp3 cranks 'million miles.' I make eye contact and think of _ _ _ _, of Buttercup, the audience is small. We are ships. "Is it strange I should change I don't know, why don't you ask her."