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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