Effortless Refrain, Still Not a Strain?

By Abrahim Harb

I feel my Brain,
itching to be set free.
I still have the pain,
I no longer feel like an ackee,
no more, I be fain
no longer a donee.
It is so much to refrain.
no more, do I have pain.
as I end this quatrain

* * * * * * *

My Brain,
It itches.
Why must it itch?

I must decree,
my Brain,
its decaying.

It is almost gone,
as I lay
and cry.

My Brain,
It itches
why must it itch?

I shout,
I yell,
its dead.

I am numb.
I am eternally,

* * * * * * * *

Refrain from pain,
as I hit thy Brain.
eternally dead?

Have I no Brain,
from this pain
as I tread?
and my dirty bed?

* * * * * * * *

Can I retain,
beyond my Brain?

Must I explain,
to thee in distain?

I guess no longer can I refrain,
from this I maintain?

Must I not be overlain,
from this, I ascertain?

Shall you entertain,
as constrain?
Me and my Brain.