Pain pain, here take a piece of me, feast yourself until you need more. I won't complain because there's too much to do:
I must get myself ready for the next time you come to feed on my hopes, I have to grow back up so you can gather my fruits, because you have nourished me enough, and I grow tall and suffer like no one else, and I give my fruit, and you take it. So we live, wretched pain, and we twist on our heels till we just can stop twisting and aching, till our skin grows old and is removed from the flesh, by another senseless feeling that happens to come by.
