Mr. Pain

The pain is bad today, it breaks through the Oxycodone. My throat has closed some more and what I'm able to drink makes me gag. J tries to cheer me up. 
"Maybe you should try the smart version of that drug."
"Huh?"
"You know, Foxycodone. Or the one where the pill is in the shape of a cube."
"I give up."
"Boxycodone."
A few minutes pass: "You know they make a dosage of that stuff that gives strippers extra courage"
"?"
"Roxy Moxycodone."
Good try, not much help. It's a bad day for prose (as you can probably tell). Lemme try the other form-

Mr. Pain

Mr. Pain is a gentleman.
He doesn't wake me, he stands
Respectfully beside my bed
His glowing steel fingers politely
tucked beneath cactus spine arms.



He waits 'til I'm awake, 'til I know
that I'm not in my dream but in this bed.
He watches my eyes, listens for my breath
And he reaches for my face
To begin his grim undertaking.



Mr. Pain is head technician
In this raw neural laboratory.
He welcomes me back
From the night’s rest and into
The day's dark research.