Something Inside & Twenty Questions

I am playing a game of twenty questions (infinite extensions).
My partner:

mute
deaf
blind

My life has become an interrogation room.

"…painpainpainpainpainpainpain…"

Me, sitting across from this poor, pitiful beast,
Under the buzzing lights that we have come to loathe.
Hope is the lard steel stable that separates us.
I grip it until my knuckles are white.

"…painpainpainpainpainpainpainpain…"

The answers have been blurred
into a muted, washed out sea of grays.
There are no yes's of course, but the "no's"…
It has taken me these ten long months of interrogation to understand them

"How about this?"

"…painpainpainpain…"

Tentative smiles.

"…PAINPAINPAINAPAINPAINPAINPAINPAIN…"

After a while, hope just becomes a table.
And I am the interrogator.
Asking questions to a being with only one answer.
I sit across the table from this huddled lump:

Defective
Broken
Receipt-less

"How about this?"

"….painpainpainpainpainpainpainpain…"

I know the answer before it leaves my lips.
Or the syringe.

"…painpainpainpainpainpain…"

I see it as broken child
Its mind too useless to be of any value.
Past injuries, or hidden amino acids—
It doesn't matter.

"How about this?"

"…painpainpainpainpainpain…."

I'm staring at a child rock it self back and forth.
Mimicking the throb that has become my personal companion
One answer to give, and the stupid shit isn't even trying to help.
Doesn't it realize what is at stake?

"…painpainpainpainpainpainpain…"

There is no other choice.
We are locked together in battle.
(as I write, I see flashes of myth and a well worded simile)
(but this is about me)

"…painpainpainpainpainpainpainpain…"

After I come this far, I know how to ignore the constant noise.
And I will continue to ask, even though I know the odds.
Not because of that table…
I have fallen into a pattern:

Weary
Disquieted
Furious

I will ask my questions,
Receive my answer.
Because if I do not,
then…