Poena Phylacterium

I would scream,
But it wouldn’t make anything bleed,
And that is what I need,
To see a man’s face crimson,
Not from embarrassment,
Or jealousy,
But from pain.

Pain is lucid,
Departed from emotion,
Crisp, clean, like a cutting edge,
Capable of rectifying,
Crystal clear,
Gazing through the amulet that is life’s one certainty.