8.8.2023 - Migraine

8.8.2023
Migraine

The sharp knives are stabbing again,
Biting into my temples like steel.
The light is searing,
Sound serrated and sharp,
Misery made within flesh.
Writhing like an eel,
Nausea ropy and wet, rolls in.
The sharp spike of saliva burns,
Inside my throat.
All I can do is weather the storm.
Hope the dark bright agony,
Leaves with the swiftness,
It descended with like a swooping vulture.
I tell myself a tiny lie,
I will not let this break me.
It always hurts worse,
When tears well and fall like acid.
All I can do is lie there,
wash with Excedrine and hope,
In the throbbing terrible dark.