In the intense burning pain I experience with rest or sleep, I can only find peace by placing my awareness outside of myself. I try to convey this with art drawn on my tablet in the aftermath of paralysed agony. I cannot read, write or think, but was able to briefly draw amazingly. I have written a poem to accompany the drawing. IN THE FIRE OF PAIN I burn in unending agony. It only intensifies as I seek rest. What continual strangeness is this befalling me? Sleep brings only more pain, greater weakness, more inability. This is the opposite of what should be. I float trying to find some peace. It is a paradox. There is peace but the price is high. I am undone by every normal process. The peace I find is somewhere deep Yet somewhere far. I place my awareness in it In a state of hopefulness, As far from the pain as mind will take me. It is glorious, wonderful, perfect And yet it becomes a trap buried in the jellification of my body. I cannot waken properly. I cannot speak. I cannot move.