#migraines
**** you
**** you
**** you
To everyday
That I feel pain
To the ones that always
Rain on my parade
Pardon my manners
But I think my head is displaced
Or off circuit
Or just a basket case
of unending nerves
That bundle together
To make a fire place
And then shock
Me with migraines
On an unforgiving
Regular basis
My paranoia
Is all that's left
Maybe I'll give that a go
Maybe know one will ever know
That the shhhhh....
Their listening!
Sorry the end.
Oct 1, 2018
Oct 1, 2018 at 3:55 PM UTC
I woke up confused.
I asked: what happened?
I’m broken and bruised.
Silently and violently, I was attacked.
I’m still curious to know what really happened.
The attack tears through my mind.
I’m separated from the world.
My mind was stolen.
As usual, I’m exposed to horrible migraines.
Oh! My God, it’s another seizure.
It’s one of many since childhood.
Oh! you inevitable silent attacker.
We’ve walked together since childhood.
You’ve got the nerve to even attack me at home.
I still can’t get used to our long-term one sided relationship.
Every epileptic seizure still hurt like the first time.
https://www.facebook.com/EpilepsyandCpfriends/
Apr 11, 2018
Apr 11, 2018 at 1:59 PM UTC
I can feel it
like a beating heart
in my head
like a hammer
on wood
there it is
in my skull
I can feel it
Nov 20, 2017
Nov 20, 2017 at 12:25 AM UTC
Turning left triggers migraines
my eyelids graze flaring screens
that discharge cold lightning in to my brain
the asymptomatic essence dissolves in a shade of sepia
welcoming what will become another day in the mental calendar.
Uneasiness will creep into this calmly drifting hour
and fruitless realization will take root
ignoring what has become of the past, the morning
inviting what is to come, the afternoon, the evening, the night.
The following seconds are warped in flow
there is little time to let bygones go.
As light escapes this crystal globe
and sparkling diamonds are left to bloom
I am still where my mind was wrought
when cold lightning to me was brought
zooming out to the grandest scale, the weeks, the months, the years unveil
whole lifetimes in lethargy lost.
This is what our excuses dearly cost
standing up is psychophysiological strain
only sleep numbs the pain.
May 5, 2017
May 5, 2017 at 8:24 AM UTC
When my head is pounding & my heart is throbbing,
when it seems like a good idea to drink my sorrows away till the next morning.
When the constant pain just starts to get worse every time you cross my mind.
It’s not midnight sadness anymore,
it’s morning & afternoon sadness that i can never get over.
You were my anti-depressant & now that you are gone
I crave you more than anything & i’m sadder than I ever were.
May 7, 2016
May 7, 2016 at 12:52 AM UTC
feeling sorry for myself again,
surprise surprise, I think a lot
they say don't it's bad for you,
surprise surprise, I wonder still
feeling sorry for myself again,
like some crack-addled *****
frustration at every turn, as I see
the corridors of my mind; a dead end
every time, and maybe the migraines
are a true sign of recent times
pain for days, a complete sense of contempt
seeing myself so low, I must mount my eyes
high up in the trees, stitched into leaves
to look down on everything so
feeling sorry for myself again,
surprise surprise, I think a lot
they said don't it's bad for me,
surprise surprise, I wonder still
feeling sorry for myself again,
like some lonesome lowlife
I understand the kettle's whistle,
tormented and brought to boiling point,
tortured by the very talents that give it purpose
am I a kettle or a joke to you?
pain for days, a complete sense of contempt
seeing myself so low, I must mount my eyes
high up in the trees, stitched into leaves
to look down on everything so
Mar 2, 2016
Mar 2, 2016 at 10:04 AM UTC
There comes a point as you sit there
trying to untangle your fingernails from between your teeth
as your leg bounces at a million miles a minute,
and you think Jesus Christ how’d I get here?
Shadows on the screen and a pinch with spreading cold
as you nearly shake yourself off the table,
you clutch at the cage on your head
and breathe deep.
Oct 23, 2014
Oct 23, 2014 at 12:11 AM UTC
Dry white pills rattle
in their dark green chamber.
Large and hard and pure,
they leave soft dust
where they clack together.
The cap spins free easy
when I fumble the bottle
and they trip eagerly
into my hand, so that
I must select my savior.
It takes hold of my muscles
and releases their grip on me,
fills my hanging head with its
whiteness rather than my red,
and gives my grinding teeth peace.
It ushers in sleep,
who has circled at the door,
smooths the sharp edges
of my breath in the
darkness, and tucks me in.
Oct 19, 2014
Oct 19, 2014 at 12:23 PM UTC
I spent my fifth grade year in school in my fourth new district
writing timed multiplication tests while blood fell from my nose
in hot fat drops splattering my papers,
a rusty brown organic counterpoint
to the red ink of my teacher’s note
“Emily- see me after class”
and my stomach dropped faster than the blood
or the bobble-headed Care Bear that my Social Studies teacher
threw out the window during class
because she once mentioned that she hated Care Bears
and so we covered her room with them.
I spent my fifth grade year at home in my parent’s bed
with blankets tacked over the windows and towels stuffed
into the cracks under the doors
while my parents tiptoed through the kitchen
and I dug my chewed off nails into my scalp trying
to claw the rot and smoldering ash out of my head
and flinched at every creaking floor board.
It was an old house.
The mourning doves called sycophantic dirges every dawn
(and noon, and dusk),
and I grinned when the dog chased them off to hide
with the one-eyed tom in the barn.
I tell you these things not to make you feel sorry for me,
but because I am confused how I can feel sorry for me
and yet miss that time so much.
In the end, I am left only with the firm conviction
that timed tests are every child’s bane,
and mourning doves are just country pigeons.
Oct 18, 2014
Oct 18, 2014 at 4:20 PM UTC
Stumble on the ragged bones and fur of a deer above the spring,
choke on fear and grab your dog, drag him (and you) away.
Three years later, come upon the picked over corpse of a button buck in the upper field,
notice that there’s only half of it, back away and shudder.
Older now, pass half a dozen bloated carcasses along back country roads,
sigh, swerve to avoid the bloodstains on the pavement.
Meanwhile, your father’s got a doe in the bed of the truck strapped down still warm,
step back to keep the ****** snow off your boots, smile.
There is blood dripping from your nose and your brain feels like it’s rotting,
a blight of molding fur in a fallow field; picture fire, not bones.
Before, herds crept from the tree line at dusk while you sat around the flames,
grazing the lower field until they bolted at the howl of coyotes.
There is a bottle of pills and a carved antler whistle on your dresser;
one could save you, one might **** you. You know which is which.
Stagger through the woods with blurring eyes and a hanging head,
trip on a mouse-chewed antler and pick it up, smile, list right.
There is a white fawn standing plain in the bottom field that will disappear come winter.
Pull the arrows from your eyes; you can feel them, you know they’re there.
When the pain leaves you will run, fleet as deer, and outstrip the exhaustion that
howls at your heels. You will be alive again, and stop rotting.
Meanwhile, try not to trip on your bones, body trying to drop as though from a headshot.
Don’t lie down yet- the blood will scrub clean eventually.
Oct 18, 2014
Oct 18, 2014 at 4:08 PM UTC
There's a beast inside my head
throwing his fists against my brain
and with every breath I take
in, out,
I feel as if I'm riding upon
the crest of a wave
up, down,
a terrible journey
I never intended to take.
But enveloped within
your arms so tightly,
your chin resting on my head
oh so lightly,
I find myself within a cocoon
of safety, comfort.
You leave far too soon,
and I wish I could keep you
here with me at all times.
But even after you've gone
I dream of you,
and when I wake
you're the first thought
that flutters into my mind.
And I am calmed.
Oct 15, 2014
Oct 15, 2014 at 3:40 AM UTC
I have a headache
I can feel my temple shaking
Like my brain had an earthquake
shaking all my thoughts free
It can't be fought
The drowning bang of dreams and doubt
A never-ending thumping on the door
All dying to get out
And even after the earthquake stops
And all these thoughts are gone
I begin the tedious task
Of fixing the damage done
But I can still see the cracks
The damage had gone to far
And no amount of time will heal it
So I'll pretend, I'll be a fake
At least until the next headache
May 25, 2014
May 25, 2014 at 7:04 AM UTC
All I want
Is for this
******* headache
To leave me alone
Because for the past
Year and a half
The only pain
I ever feel
Is the one
Residing in my
Head
-e.w.
Apr 29, 2014
Apr 29, 2014 at 11:29 PM UTC