Migraine pain oft’ strains my brain when I’m the eye of the needle in a language hurricane,

I can’t complain when it closes off out then in as it’s my only source of respite from the state within.

Snowed into a cabin that’s a wheely bin.

My musty minded confinement’s making poems from grime dust and old rust from mental spam cans.
No plots and plans just a headache that bangs, eyes that go blind, a numb dead feeling inside that hangs me out to dry like old parchment.

Sometimes when I start, much more is meant.

So when I dent the surface, in nervous apprehension I find tension.

A stripped down, bare walls dimension, an ascension through the way the pain wrenches and the room reels.
Temporary displacement as vertigo rocks me on my heels. And how this feels?

I am standing on a heat shimmer surrounded by a blinding white blurred version of the world, my eyes are blazing cold white fire wherever I look and I cannot feel the ground.

Everything that burns I feel as slowly my iron brain is blow-torched away, it sickens me but when I kneel and retch all I bring up is smoke and more fire. The world becomes a freezer door I am stuck to. Every time I try to get away I lose another piece of myself that stays there as a gory reminder.

Withered and blue in neat little strips.