Migraine

Written by Anthony Murphy

headache.jpg

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.