Written by Anthony Murphy


Behind my right eye

the pain taps out its own Morse code,

sending its twisted message through my body.


My face feels baby soft,

like a stranger’s,

and I taste the tang of metal on my tongue.


The merest hint of light

burns magnesium bright,

and kaleidoscope stars dance behind my eyelids.


My stomach rolls and churns,

like a lifeboat in a typhoon,

a hot soup of vomit catches in my throat.


My machine gun pulse

pumps through my tired limbs,

trying to burst through my pale skin.


So I bury my head in a soft cool pillow

and let the dark comfort

the storm in my skull.

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