Knocking. There must be someone, something. Knocking on the wall of my head. For every day and every night, my head pounds. Even when I lie in bed. Light pierces and burns, oh and the pressure. It presses against each side of my skull like a juice press and squeezes thoughts of my head like it’s making some kind of concoction. Why me? Why every day for as long as I can remember has my head pounded. Maybe just maybe It’s the words, knocking knocking on my mind. Asking to be spilled out onto something concrete. Maybe just maybe this knocking, pounding, torturing, feeling inside my head, is me?