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Lauren Mar 2019
By. Lauren

A throbbing pain,
A moment in which I hear nothing.
A bullet to the head.
A scream to leave me alone.
Doctors say “if a headache lasts more than 24 hours than there is something wrong."
“What about 24/7?” I scream in my brain.
My headache is not a scream for your help;
It is a scream for the God I left years ago to hurry up and **** me.
For as long as I can remember my headache has been there for me.
My headache comes over at the worst of times banging on my door refusing to leave.
My headache is worse than the Jehovah’s Witness banging on my door every Sunday.
My headache is an intruder refusing to leave even after I call the cops.
My headache makes me scream,
So keep away from me.
My headache has taken a hold of me.
My headache makes the lights in my room look like the holy light waiting to blind me.
I know not of the life I had before headache because headache has always been holding my hand.
My headache is a lover who I can not seem to leave no matter how many times I say,
‘I am through”
My headache is the person on the other side of the aisle
Saying,
“I do”
Before I could run away.
So when the doctor gave me the bottle of pills that rattled in the passenger seat of my car all the way home I was shocked to see I was afraid to divorce my lover headache.
Because
My headache loved me.
C S Dec 2013
He told us the truth.
Writing isn't so hard, really.
You just sit with a pen and paper,
And bleed.
Maybe pounding my head
Isn't the right way to elicit bleeding.
But it did bring the kind of headache
That reminded me what I had to bleed for in the first place.
White House.
White papers.
Black suits.
Black president.
For change.
No better.
They pretend to have a headache, but their incompetence leaves us with headaches we're too young and shiny to deserve.
Aren't we?
Filled up
With life,
Potential, hope.
Why do we shoulder their burden?  
The black suits in the white house made their own headache.
It doesn't matter to us.
Until it does.
Stimulus.
Filibuster.
Health-care.
Bail-out.
Drowned-out.
S­hut-down.
Shout-down.
Bring-us-down.
We could be on our way to the top.
Mess-up.
Then complain about the headache it brings them.
What about us?
Because we're the ones affected.
Then is the worst part.
They do it frighteningly quick.
So easy, too.
Give-up ,
And leave for us to
Fix-up.
We have to shout.
Make you listen.
Stand-up.
One-two.
Thousands, millions.
Make them listen.
March-up.
Three-four.
Slogans, protests.
Make them change.
Head-up.
Five-Six.
Defeat, Regret.
See the impossibility.
Sit-down.
Seven-eight.
They won't listen.
**** the system.
**** the suits.
**** the house.
**** growing up.
Because you know,
Now we're grown.
So this is the headache
They talked about.
So this is why
We spill our blood.
Where's the cancel button?
How to delete?
It's a cycle,
Don't you see.
You can't wipe the memory.
Why we thought
We could ever get rid
Of the headache…
Beats me.
This is a spoken word poem I plan to perform sometime soon, so just putting the words on paper is like asking a tent to assemble itself by putting it on the ground, but better than nothing.
Alissa Rogers Mar 2012
The throbbing headache and nausea
I can endure; I've had worse.
Right now I could cry,
such a raw hope consumed me
as I thought about you, desperate.
It was still dark for me then,
when I needed you. Now it's day.
It brings a true smirk to my face
to know you are nothing more
than a night of binge drinking:
a foolish part of my youth,
a consequence of boredom.
I could not hold your liquor,
I vomited all that bile you said to me
in the hedges outside. Don't fret,
this is not a bad memory, in fact
you might never be a memory at all.
I am well. I will drink better and
far more dangerous poisons.
I am today, you are only last night.
Nhuja Dongol Sep 2015
When you can't divide a number by 0
Learn mathematics and you'll be a Hero
Infinity, proportions &
coordinate geometry
you can get a headache, I cannot guarantee!!!
maths full of + and -
Beware! you can suffer from memory loss
Even though the probability is very rare
think  your way, a headache-nobody
can bear
when the headache comes to maths
unlike physics, chemistry or anatomy
I advise you to relax
And think about the solution slowly....
aar505n May 2014
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
Samara Kae Gibbs Sep 2014
I have a headache that won't go away.
An i hear a darkness calling my name.

All i want for you to say is:
'Darling, I'll be there for you'
And I'll reply
'thankyou my love.'

Then you can continue,
'I will protect you, lovely, from every monster out there.'

But oh,
How I know,
That this will never happen,
For,
You do not listen
To my pleas:
for you to take notice of my suffering.

And this realization
Makes my headache
Grow even stronger,
As it beats along to your heart.
Pandora dO Sep 2012
Do you hate having a headache?
Why don’t you try a heartache?
Pain in the head’s nothing,
not in comparison with pain in the heart.

One can’t take an aspirin to **** the pain,
it’s useless to wait till it’s over,
and it’s hard to learn to live with it.

Please stop complaining about your headache.
I would love to have it, you know,
but only if you’d take my pain.

For someone affected me with heartache
and this is not very nice to experience.
’cause it has my attention locked on it;

I seem not to be able,
to concentrate on something else.
My concentration span has never been so large.

Or so small,
as the concentration always returns to my heart...
with everything I do, no matter what.

I can’t comprehend why you complain,
complain about this headache of yours.
Maybe it’s logical; you never had pain in your heart
and thus you have naught to compare the pain..

I should be happy for you, that you don’t.
And I’ll try to be, yet I don’t know if it’ll work.
There’s a higher chance, that I’ll envy you,
just because you don’t know what this pain is…

And please try to keep it that way.
Nobody would want this pain.
Everyone who has it, wishes it away.
’cause they can’t handle it,
and they know no one else can ..
April 10th, 2007 - taken from my old collection.

Had difficulty with a title back then, but must say whoever helped me with it, got it just right.
WendyStarry Eyes Jul 2018
I think I have written something similar to this before but here she is again just a knocking at my brains door!!!!

HEADACHE, HEADACHE......
.................. GO AWAY!!!!!!
I'VE TAKEN SEVERAL
REMEDIES°•°°•°•°•°
YET STILL YOU STAY!
AM I MISSING A MESSAGE?
WHAT DO YOU MEAN TO SAY?
HEADACHE, HEADACHE.........
YOU WILL NEVER BE MY FRIEND!
I DO NOT LIKE THE GAMES
YOU PLAY¤¤¤¤¤¤°•
SO I PRAY○♡○
TO THE LORD FOR THIS
HEADACHE, HEADACHE.........
TO FOREVER
~~~~~~~~~GO AWAY°•°•°•°•°•
AMEN
The world's out of order
My life is a mess
I need a weekend of chillin'
To help decompress
A few days of football
And drinks and good friends
Will fix up my mood
And get this blackness to end

My wife's with another
And my car died en route
To my place of employment
So, I got the boot
The dog found a new friend
he met up with a skunk
And what's left of my house
Has a wonderful funk

I'm sitting here working on Sunday's headache
Even though it's still only Friday
I'm running a tab, cause the bank's overdrawn
It's a bourbon and beer and a rye day

My ex called this morning
Said our daughters in jail
And she has no money
to help pay the bail
That black cloud of dismal
Still over my head
I should have rolled over
And stayed home in bed

They say your problems
happen in threes
Multiply that by five
And it happened to me
So it's time to move on
Sit and chill for a while
Forget all the crap
And just sit, drink, and smile

I'm sitting here working on Sunday's headache
Even though it's still only Friday
I'm running a tab, cause the bank's overdrawn
It's a bourbon and beer and a rye day
Phoebe Thomasson Oct 2015
Head exploding
life seems too fast
to find out what I'm thinking
I wonder if my strength
is going to last.

I crawled into bed
with you last night
first time in years
we've been segregated
by my exhaustion
and my fears.

To feel your flesh again
made my headache worth it
but nothing will take away
the ache that I feel
for the love of myself.

Self acceptance is what I need
I'm better than I thought
but the lingering mistrust
of how I'm going to be
scuppers me at every turn.

If I could just relax
on the inside
and let my self be happy
I think I would be happier.
I'm coming out of a long period of exhaustion and I don't quite trust my own stamina yet. Yesterday I loaded up with too many sugars and have a headache that's lasted for nearly twelve hours now. I didn't sleep much but I still feel that life is better than ever....mostly. At least I can see the horizon now...I'm no longer in a dark endless tunnel. I've just got to keep moving.
Kyle Ray Smith Oct 2016
It was all a blur...the day I met you
A headache of which 200 MG of Ibuprofen would not satisfy
You might as well have cut my forehead open and questioned if its contents were love or lust
I didn’t know
I had a headache

Oh it was a doozy
Whew Whew Whew
Thoughts whizzed around my head in zip a dee doo das
Fugazi's of  Love or Lust
I don’t know
I have a headache
Think it's a headache?
Your mind lies to you, it's not...
What is it really?
I have a headache
Go away
I have a headache
Ugh! the aching pain
I have a headache
Cant you see
I'm a ***** right now
Just leave me be
Lucky Queue Nov 2012
buzzzzzzz
The bus engine idles
Intensifying the hammering of little gnomes
On my skull
Their tin mallets ***** dinking
incessantly
Throbbing
Painful numb as waves crash to escape
The confines of my head
A small clownfish throwing his tiny body
Against the walls again
And again
And again
ba-dump ba-dump ba-dump
The bus hits three large bumps in a row
Jostling and jolting me into excruciating confusion
So tired and so alert
Drifting off to consciousness
I have got to escape this headache...
Mitchell Duran Nov 2013
It was 98'.
No, it was 99'.
That was the year.
Yeah, that was the year.

I had just landed abroad and knew no one.
Well, I was there with my girlfriend, Page.

I knew her.

We had to get out of the states.
There was nothing for us there.
We were drowning in that nothingness - that lacking future.

Cookie cutters everywhere.

Everything I saw was like an outline of something that had already happened.
I couldn't sleep.
I couldn't ****.
I could barely call my parents to let them know what I was doing.

Nothing really.

Floating downward like a leaf broken from its stem.
I was scared.
I'll admit it.
I was terrified of the next four years.
Twenty-five seemed so far away and so close, all at the same time.

We had a found an apartment to live in while in the U.S.
We were lucky because people we met later on said it was hell trying to find a place after arriving.
I was never too good at that stuff anyway.
I always felt like people were trying to cheat me or something.

It was small.
You would have said you loved it, but secretly hated it.
One could barely stand in the shower.
Want to spread your arms wide?

Forget about it.

There was a balcony though and you could watch the street traffic from above.
People look so small when your high up.
Down the street, there was a large theatre where they filmed movies.
I rarely saw them shooting, but I could tell it was a good place to.
It was beautiful at night when the lampposts would flicker on, orange spilling on the street.
Everything was damp in the Fall when we first arrived.

"What do you want to do today?" I asked her. She was laying face down on the bed.
Whenever she was hungover, she would do that.
All the covers and pillows over her face, blocking out the world and its light.
I did the same thing, so I couldn't really say much.
We were hungover a lot those first couple months.
Then came the jobs and everything changed...mostly.

She moaned something that I couldn't understand.
I was standing by the window, staring at the pigeons and crows perched on the roof across from us.
They had made a little nest under one of the shingles.
Clever little ******'s.

"Look at those things," I said.
The coffee I was drinking was bitter and made from crystals.
It gave me a headache, but it was cheap and we were broke.
I stepped back to get a better look at their nest and knocked an empty beer bottle around.

She moaned again and rose up from bed, kind of like a stretching kitten or a cat.
Her back was arched like a crescent moon and she stunk of ***** and Sprite.
The blankets were twisted and crumpled and she was tangled in them like a fly in a spiders web.
I went into the kitchen and poured out my coffee, thinking of what to do with the day.

"Breakfast?" she asked me from bed.
My back was to her, but I knew she wanted me to make it.
I put the electric stove on and opened the refrigerator.

"No eggs," I said back to her, "I'll be right back."

She moaned and slithered back into bed.
I threw my jacket and slippers on and made my way downstairs.

"Dobry den," I said to the cashier.
He was a tiny vietnamese man with a extremely high pitched voice.
I struggled to stifle a laugh every time I came in.

"Dobry den," he said back, sounding like air escaping from a balloon.

"Dear God," I thought, "How does his voice box do it?"

I went straight to the eggs, pretending to cough.
All around me were packaged sweets and rotten vegetables and fruit.
There were half loaves of brown, stale bread wrapped lazily in thin plastic.
Canned beans, noodle packets, and cardboard infused orange juice lined the shelves.
Where were the ******* eggs?
We needed milk too.
Trying to drink that crystalized coffee without it was torture.
I don't even know how I did it earlier.
"I must be getting used to the taste..." I thought.

I opened the single refrigerator they had in the place.
It was stocked with loosely packaged cheese, milk, beer, and soda.
There they were, those ******* eggs, right next to the yogurt.
I looked at the expiration date of a small carton of chocolate milk and winced.
"Someone could die here if they weren't careful," I whispered to myself.

"Everyding O.K.?" I heard the cashier squeak behind me.
I turned and nodded and showed him the eggs.
He was suspicious I was stealing something.
It was ironic.
I put the eggs on the counter and handed over what the cash register told me.

"There you go," I said and handed him the 58 crown in exact change.

"Děkuji," he peeped.

His voice sounded like a stuffed animal.
I nodded, smiled, and quickly got the hell out of there.

"You know the guy that works at the shop across the street?" I asked the body still in bed.
Well, she was up now, back up against the wall with her laptop on her lap.
"You mean the guy that has the voice of a little girl?"
"Exactly. I was just in there - getting these eggs - and I nearly laughed in his face."
"That's mean," she frowned, staring at her laptop.
Many of our conversations were with some kind of electronic device in between us.
We needed to work on that.
"I didn't laugh at him directly."
She smiled and nodded and moved down the bed a little more.
Only her head was resting on the pillow.
I cracked two eggs and let them sizzle there in the butter and the salt.

"So, what do you want to do today?" I asked Page, "It's not too cold out. We could go on a walk."
"Where?"
"I don't know. Over the bridge and maybe down by the water."
"It's going to be so cold," she shivered.
"I was just out there in slippers and a t-shirt and I was fine."
"That's because you're so big. I'm tiny. I don't get as much blood flow."

I flipped the two eggs and looked down at them.
Golden and burnt slightly around the edges.
******* perfect.
Now, just gotta wait a little on the other side and make sure to not let the yolk harden.
I hated that more than anything in the world.
Well, that and hearing **** poor excuses like it being too cold.
It was nice out.
She'd be fine.

"Come on," I sighed. I did that a lot. "It'll be fun."
She looked up at me from her computer with a dead look in her eye.
"What?" I asked her.
"You're such a...nerd," she said.
"No I'm not."
"You're so weird. Some of the things you say sometimes..."
"Like what?"
"Let's go on a walk."
She exaggerated the word walk.
I laughed and knew I was being a little too excited about a walk.
"Yeah. So? What are you doing? You're just laying there doing nothing."
"It's my day off," she scoffed, jokingly.

We were unemployed.
Everyday was a day off.
This was not something to bring up.
It was touchy subject.
One had to go about it...delicately.

"We need to find jobs," I stated, "And we can probably ask around or look for signs in windows."

"Oh JESUS," she gagged, coughing and diving back under the covers.

"I'm just thinking ahead so we can stay here. There's got to be something out there we can do."

"Like what?" she asked, her voice muffled by blankets.

"I don't know...something," I mumbled, trailing off as I flipped one of the eggs, "Perfect."

After breakfast, Page finally got out of bed and took a shower.
I tried to sneak in there with her, but, like I said before, one could barely fit themselves in there.
We compromised to have *** on the bed, though I did miss doing it in the shower.
As Page got dressed, I watched her slip those thin black stockings on, half reading a magazine.
I had gotten a subscription to The Review because I was trying to become a writer.
I thought, maybe if I read the stuff getting published - even the bad **** - it'll help.
Later, I realized, this was a terrible idea, but I enjoyed the magazine all the same.
Page finished getting dressed.
I jumped into whatever clothes were on the floor and didn't stink.
Then, we were out the door on Anna Letenske street, looking at the tram, downhill.


"I can see my breath," Page said, "It's cold..."

"Alright," I said as both of us ran across the street, "It's a little cold."

"But it's ok because I'm glad were out of the house."

"If we would have festered there any longer, we would have stayed in there all day."

"And missed this beautiful day," she said mocking me, putting both of her arms in the air.

The sky was gray and overcast and a single black crow flew over us, roof to roof.
No one was out, really.
It was Sunday and no one ever really came out on Sundays.
From the few czech friends I had, they explained to me this was the day to get drunk and cook.

"Far different then what people think in the States to do," I remember telling him.
"What do you do, my friend?" he had asked. He always called me my friend.
It was a nice thing to do since we had only known each other a couple weeks.
"Well," I explained to him, "Some people go to church to pray to God."
He laughed when I said this and said, "HA! God? How many people believe in God there?"
I had heard through the news and some Wikipedia research Prague was mostly atheist.
"A good amount, I'm pretty sure."
"That's silly," he scoffed, "Silly is word, right?"
"Yep. A word as any other."
"I like that word. What else do they do on Sunday?"
"A lot of people watch football. Not like soccer but with..."
"I know what you talk about," he said, cutting me off, "With the ball shaped like egg?"
I nodded, "Yes, the one with the egg shaped ball. It's popular in the Fall on Sundays."
"And what is Fall?" he asked.
You can see our relationship was really based on questions and answers.
He was a good guy, though I could never pronounce his name right.
There was a specific z in there somewhere where one had to dig their tongue under their teeth.
Lots of breath and vibration that Americans were never asked or trained to do.
Every czech I met said our language was a high contradiction.
Extremely complex in grammar and spelling, but spoken with such sloth.
I don't know if they used the word sloth.
I just like the word.

As we waited for the tram, I noticed the burnt orange and red blood leaves on the ground.
"Where had they come from?" I wondered. There were no trees on the street.
Must be from the park down the block, the one with the big church and the square.
There were lines of trees there used as leaning posts for the bums and junkies as they waited.
What they were waiting for, I never knew.
They just looked to be waiting for something.
I kicked a leaf into the street from the small island platform for the tram.
It swept up into the air a couple inches, and then instantly, was swept away by a passing car.
I watched as it wavered in the air, settling down the block in the middle of the road.

"Where's this trammm," Page complained.
Whenever it was cold out, her complaining level multiplied by a million.
"Should be coming soon. Check the schedule."
"Too cold," she said, "Need to keep my hands in my pockets."
I shook my head and looked at the schedule. It said it would be there at 11:35.
"11:35," I told her, still looking at the schedule. There was a strange cross over the day of Sunday.
"You mad?"
"No," I said turning to her, "I just want to have a nice day and its hard when you're upset."
"I'm not upset," she said, her teeth chattering behind her lips.
"Complaining I mean. We can go back home if it's really too cold. It's right there."
"No," she looked down, "Let's go out for a bit. I just don't know how long I'll last."
"Ok," I shrugged.
I looked up the street and saw our tram coming; number 11.
"There it is," I said.
"Thank God," Page exhaled, "I feel like I'm about to die."

Even the tram was sparse with people.
An empty handle of cheap liquor rattled in the back somewhere.
I heard it rock back and forth against the legs of a metal seat.
"Someone had a night last night," I thought, "Hope that's not mine."
We had gone to some dark bar with a lot of stairs going down - all I really recall.
Beer was so **** cheap there and there was always so much of it, one got very drunk easily.
I couldn't even really remember who we met or why we went there.
When everything's a blur in the morning you have two choices:
Feel guilty about how much you drank, lie around, and do nothing or,
Leave it be, try not to think about it, and try and find your passport and cell phone.

We made our transfer at the 22 and rode downhill.
Page looked like she was going to be sick.
Her sunglasses were solid black and I couldn't see her eyes, but her face was flushed and green.
"You alright?" I asked her.
"I'm fine," she said, "Just need to get off of this tram. Feel like I'm going to be sick."
"You look it."
"Really?" she asked.
"Yeah, a little bit."
"Let's get off at the park with the fountain. I don't want to puke here."
"Ok," I said, smiling, "We'll get off after this stop."

We sat down on one of the benches that circled around the fountain.
It was empty and Page was confused why.
"Maybe to save money?" I suggested.
"What? It's just water."
"Well, you gotta' pump the water up there and then filter it back out. Costs money."
"Costs crown," she corrected me.
"Same thing," I said, putting my arm around her, "There's no one here today."
"I know why," she stated, flatly.
"Why?"
"Because it's collllllllld and it's Sunday and only foreigner's would go out on a day like this."
I scanned the park and noticed that most of the faces there were probably not Czech.
"****," I muttered, "You may be right."
"I know I am," she said, wiggling her chin down into her jacket, "We're...crzzzy."
"We're what?" I asked. I couldn't hear her through her jacket.
She just shook her head back and forth and looked forward, not wanting to move from the warmth.
Dogs were scattered around the brown green grass with their owners.
Some were playing catch with sticks or *****, but others were just following behind their owner's.
I watched as one took a crap in the center of the walkway near the street.
Its owner was typing something on their phone, ignoring what was happening in front of him.
After the dog finished, the owner looked down at the crap, looked around, then slunk off.

"Did you see that?" I asked Page, pointing to where the owner had left the mess.
"Yeah," she nodded, "So gross. That would never fly in the states."
"You'd get shoulder tackled by some park security guard and thrown in jail."
"And be given a fat ticket," she said, coughing a little, "Let's get out of here."
"Yeah," I agreed, "And watch for any **** on the way out of here."

We made our way out of the park and down the street where the 22 continues on to the center.
"Let's not go into the center. Let's walk along the water's edge and maybe up to the bridge."
"Ok," I said, "That's a good idea." I didn't want to get stuck in that mass of tourists.
I could tell Page didn't either. I think she was afraid she might puke on a huddle of them.
We turned down a side street before the large grocery store and avoided a herd of people.
The cobble stones were wet and slick, glistening from a small sliver of sunlight through the clouds.
Page walked ahead.
Sometimes, when we walked downtown in the older parts of Prague, we would walk alone.
Not because we were fighting or anything like that; it was all very natural.
I would walk ahead because I saw something and she would either come with or not.
She would do the same and we both knew that we wouldn't go too far without the other.
I think we both knew that we would be back after seeing what we had wanted to see.
One could call it trust - one could call it a lot of things - but this was not really spoken about.
We knew we would be back after some time and had seen what we had wanted to.
Thinking about this, I watched her look up at the peeling paint of the old buildings.
Her thick black hair waved back and forth behind her plum colored pea coat.
Page would usually bring a camera and take pictures of these things, but she had forgotten it.
I wished she hadn't.
It was turning out to be such a beautiful day.

We made it to the Vlatva river and leaned over the railing, looking down at the water.
Floating there were empty beer bottles and plastic soda jugs.
The water was brown, murky, and looked like someone had dumped a large bag of dirt in there.
There was nothing very romantic about it, which one would think if you saw it in a picture.
"The water looks disgusting," Page said.
"That it does, but look at the bridge. It looks pretty good right
Heartbreak Motel Feb 2016
Thinking about him is now a habit.
A bad habit.

I scream his name in my head until having headache.
I always have headache.
O.P
Zane Stotts May 2015
Bump, bump
in my skull.
Causing me to slump
while listening to the dull
thump, thump.*
Pressure building in my head,
threatening to break.
these things, I always dread.
This is why it’s called a headache.
I had a headache. So I wrote this.
Traced eyes with circles,
and a headache, he forgot
all he used to be

replacing nights with
sobbing, he took all he had
and soon went missing

A backpack full of
his blighted heart, taking the
corruption away

Scattering it on
the beach, the tides replaced them
with nothing but shells-
It's like a story. he leaves with a broken heart, scatters the pieces on the beach, and they're replaced with nature.
Dominique Apr 2014
i took (too) many pills
because of my headache

but soon,
i discovered that

my headache
was actually
your name


being constantly repeated
in my head

by voices of the girls you kissed



who weren’t me
Amaya K Lilium Jul 2010
Oh this pounding in my head -
why won’t the voices stop?
Pressure builds behind my eyes,
with this pain I will surely drop.
Can I hold on much longer?
This is no piece of cake.
Someone please find me some relief
for this splitting headache!
Bunny Rubinstein Nov 2018
I have kissed boys

Girls

People in between

But lately I have been kissing bottles

Their lips are colder than yours

But slowly I have realized that the pounding headache when I wake is less hurtful than the shattering in my chest

Yet as these toxins rush through my veins

I can't help but miss the tracing of your fingers along my skin

Miss the numbness of the world when you lie with me

But when I wake I remember that a headache is treated with an aspirin

While heartache

Well if you have a cure for Heartache let me know
King Panda Sep 2016
let this be proof that on day
***
I am alive
and kicking
with nothing but a
caffeine headache
and a good
twenty days of
September
in my back pocket
but now
the cross breeze
comes and
I lament the past four
autumns
how they left me
cold
broken
and seeing women jump
off buildings
God!
Sovereign soldier!
Sinner!
Saint!
let me live more than
20 days
I am a good person
I only **** when asked
I eat spaghetti with a fork
and spoon
I once tried to jump off
a cliff
but that was then
and this is now
and the breeze is as cold
as winter
don’t think that I ever enjoyed this
time with you
don’t think that I won’t ever
try that again
I promise I won’t float
in the air
no
not this time
Alexa Sz Jan 2011
Oh my it is great...
to have this headache...
after trying
to understand
what numbers are real and fake

I don't see
how this will help me
through my course of
life
Will I ever be
trying to see
what the angle of a chair is again?
or will I ever need to use
how to find a hypotenuse?

I've thought and thought
for a very long time
and came up with a list
of jobs that would ever
need algebra

Math teacher
Crazy Math obsessor
Architect
Carpenter
scientist (on occasion)
contractor
Someone who builds triangles
kite maker
someone who makes graphs
salesman/women

Too bad that isn't any of the jobs I ever want...

Algebra...
oh how my head burns
and I'm sorry if you like it
I don't mean to offend
but Algebra just aint my jam
I'd rather be painting
or writing
or singing
I'd rather be strumming(my guitar)
be sleeping
or eating
I'd rather
go play soccer
or basketball
or ski
Really I'd just rather be free
free of the confusion
I feel after class
of the helplessness
that I have
towards math

Oh how am I going to survive???

PS. I still have to live through geometry (I **** at shapes)
pre calculous (I don't even know what that is) and calculous (Ugh ***?)

I hope you enjoyed my "radical" poem!
Johnny Zhivago Aug 2013
Spanish influenza
walking pneumonia
icepick headache
common cold
whooping cough
Diabetes
anorexia
getting old

flat foot
bad back
heel spur
heart attack
spasticus
autisticus
tongue tied
amb(i)dextrous

my weakness
is my forte
my sickness is  my skill
my illness
is my realness
it makes my life a thrill


Trying to fight this
bronchitis
gangrene
runny nose
frostbite
tooth decay
hat hair
broken bones

bed bound
shell-shocked
flea ridden
sinusitis
cholera
dropsy
eliphantitis
out-all-nightis

wom­b fever
winter fever
black water fever
remitting fever
ship fever
jail fever
camp fever
or schizophrenia

scarlet fever
tuberculosis
American plague
rock n roll
Wheezing
Paralysed
Got gas
In both holes

rabies
scabies
rickets
and SARS
man flu
bird flu
swine flew
from Mars

multiple sclerosis
tennis elbow-sis
stomach ulcers
and leukaemia
night blindness
hypothermia
lung cancer
sickle-cell anaemia

French pox
Lockjaw
Polio
Gout
Nostalgia
Dropsy
Knocked right
Out

Stuttering
Bellyacher
Anti-social
Leprosy
Sleep walker
Sleep talker
Absent minded
OCD

Tourettes, ****
Pyromania
tonsillitis
Conjunctivitis
Food poisoned!
Warted over
My Psoriasis
(Will I survive this?)

Measles
Malaria
Meningitis
Migraine
Scrum-pox
Worm fit
Water on
the brain

apparitions
seeing things
rattly chest
bad breath
la duzi
tormentation
inflammation
black death

measles
malaria
migrane
mumps
leprosy
lice and
leg bone
lumps

kleptomania
bubonic plague
black *****
feeling ****
bone shave
falling sickness
wanna stop
just cant quit

Huntington's and
Parkingson's and
Hare-lipped
Hay fever
Typhoid fever
Glandular fever
Night fever
And Hysteria

intellectual
dyslexia
dysfunctional
family
cancer crab
stillborn twin
bad blood
epilepsy

Parking spot
disabilities
all the wounds in
all the militaries
pity thee with
lost agility
lost babes or
infertility

ear infection
starvation
Hepatitis
E to A
smallpox
chicken pox
cow pox
what a day

tuberculosis
stuttering
panic stricken
star struck
scurvy
shingles
headless chicken
bad luck


paranoid
in the void
premature
*******
stomach ulcers
feeble pulses
chronicled
*******

autistic
gallstones
double-jointe­d
wrists and knees
consumption
bad digestion
quinsy palsy
ticks and fleas

amnesia
typhus
amnesia
heart failure
radiation
cholera
amnesia
bad behaviour

Hypochondriac?
By gosh, no!
Poorly are ye?
‘Fraid so.


nostalgia
        suffer me
wanderlust
suffer me
insomnia
suffer me
loneliness
let me be



god
complex
mother
complex
father
complex
ego
complex

­

its complicated
im superior
its complicated
im inferior
its complicated
im a short man
got ingrown hairs
got a bad tan



im suffering
ocd
im suffering
obesity
im suffering
jealousy
xenophobia
and nosebleeds



stokholm
syndrome
toxic shock
syndrome
got it down
syndrome
irritable bowel
syndrome

yellow nail
syndrome
stevens-johnson
syndrome
restless leg
syndrome
shoulder-hand
syndrome

lambert-eaton
syndrome
mi­ddle-lobe
syndrome
mobius
syndrome
pickwickian
syndrome

post rubella
syndrome
riley day
syndrome
straight back
syndrome
ulysess
syndrome



alcoholics
we are prone
drug addicts
we are prone
mind benders
we are prone
fortune spenders
we are prone



My illness, my illness
My illness is my realness

*Pick it up
Tide it over
Fight it off or
Cave in

Save it
Suffer it
Pass it on
When its Raining

bleed him
restrain him
shave his
head

he went from being
quite well
to being quite
dead.
unfinished but did you bother to the end?
Saudia R Dec 2019
there are some days when it's the headache and you, not you and the headache.

just pound after pound, the core of your brain. the beat you never intended to dance to. and look at us, puppets.

like a ball on a string, our heads rattling around, unaware that heads don't rattle.

trying to push away the push of pain through pills that we pop to pop this pressure point.

but figuring out where to place the pin is the pause.

you don't want to make it worse, but if you can't make it better, best to just...not.

how do normal people function? what is this magical nirvana of blissful calm state? how does one close their eyes and sleep?

when headache likes to play, you can only hope they don't pull the string too hard.
sometime you want to drink the coffee and say **** it.
Maddy Van Buren Oct 2015
you are the headache
and the heart attack
the one I wrote about long ago
back then
I didn't really think
all I felt
it flooded every document
every letter a feeling
now
the hurricane is over
the pain doused
and I'm left wondering
how were all those things
the good memories
left out about you?
I didn't think I'd need
or crave, even
another pain in my brain
and shock to my heart
Cassidy Shoop Apr 2014
it's 5:36am
and i woke up from the pounding
in my head
and for some reason
you haven't even gone to sleep at all
and after two whole years
without your touch
can someone please tell me why
the moment i opened my eyes
you were the first person i ran to
to make the pounding stop
and jesus christ,
it stopped
i'm scared
Ahmad Cox Apr 2012
People can be a headache sometimes
Sometimes I just want to smack some people
There are some people out there
That I makes me question
If people really have any good sense anymore
My favorite # 1 Life experiences enhancer stress and pain reliever the magical psychotropic attributes it has makes me go loco. Cannabis Sativa/Indica or Hybrid I love it all...the only bud I won't smoke is "Reggies" that seedy nasty ****. It gives me a headache. All other qualities strains and methods of ingesting or using marijuana welcome. The *** oil is so strong yet so dreamy and good. All around is excellent medicine and I will always remain to use it even after I quit my other habits. Makes people rejoice and come together happily with each other and commune and be kind to each other respectful to each other. That is what u love about cannabis.
PotHead4 Life 4/20Friendly
©Franko the Christian Poet
I use marijuana for spiritual communion too. I use it to ponder in the presence of God and ask questions seek answers and form methods of spiritual recovery and healing. Cannabis is a Gift from God.
Irene S Feb 2010
Dear Headache,

I see you're back again,
like you think that I'm your friend.
Like you think I enjoy your company.
Well, let me tell ya somethin', honey.
You need to go the **** away,
and don't come back another day.
The only time I let you in,
You're my excuse to eat a Vicodin.

No love,
Irene Saylor
Dallas Phoenix Mar 2015
Swirling a frosty straw
Stuck up like a victory flag in winter ground
With my lips wrapped around it
I stare into this empty canvas
of a vanilla malt
And project my cartoonish headaches
into it to devour it
Oh those ****** Doo monsters
Shadows that lurk to cut my Tom & Jerry humor
Only to formulate semblances of evil
A Mojo JoJo caricature
I then project into my milkshake
His smirk haunts the smile of Tweety Bird
In my Hanna-Barbara mindfield
Colorful spirals of animated joys
Let me know slurp Elmer Fudd shotgun
That was mugging my creativity
And robbed me of my motive
Let me taste the refreshing winds
That flow through the deserts of Road Runner
Taking laps around my heart
With its true intentions in a love letter
I will never get
Soon slurped and eaten to take away the thoughts
And now I hope I can drink another
To rip out the rest of the pain that in my heart
Jayantee Khare Aug 2018
***

hold me not
touch me not
maybe I'm clumsy-clumsy-clumsy!

have headache
want chocolate shake
maybe I'm lazy-lazy-lazy!

feel me not
mind me not
I'm cranky-cranky-cranky!

the mood is swinging
find me clinging
I'm touchy-touchy-touchy!

may be crazy
sometimes hazy
I'm moody-moody-moody!

stay away
go your way
I'm feelo-feelo-feelo!

just be there
patient listener
I'm despo-despo-despo!

here i contradict
have conflict
I'm ******-******-******!

changing hormones
troubling estrogens
tell me not a fatso-fatso-fatso!

maybe I'll be ok again!
maybe you'll love me then!


Maybe few females relate....resonate....rate .....
A big thnx to all readers and those who appreciated, thnx hp, thnx Elliott
mannley collins Feb 2017
The body that I am incarnated in was born in the middle of the very rainy summer of 1939.
My vehicle for life.
All seeing-all smelling --all tasting--all touching--all speaking--all hearing --all sensing --perambulating -singing-dancing-cooking--drinking --painting--******* etc etc vehicle.
Born a few months before the Second World War,with all its nonsensical religiously patriotic and democratically oligarchic and liberally fascistic evil nonsense, started.
Makes me a Rider of the Storm eh?.
Eat yer heart out Jim Morrison!.
Slid out of my mothers womb in the upper room of a brand new house.
Situated on a new street somewhere on a new development on the edge of a 3000 years old walled city in 'gods' own country'--that's what they called it.
Yorkshire!.
First smell I remember,clearly,was rain soaked Lilac and Earth mixed together.
Their scent coming hrough the open bedroom window.
AAAAH rain soaked Lilac.
Second smell was Tobacco from downstairs where my father was anxiously chain smoking.
Then came my first taste.
He,my father,dipped the tip of his little finger into his glass of celebratory Whiskey and poked it into my mouth as I lay there,wrapped in swaddling clothes.
Irresponsibility!!.
Second taste was her warm rich creamy breast milk.
And so my days and nights started.
They told me the name that I was to answer to--as if it was the whole of me.
They told me my beliefs and attitudes and desires and limitations and skills etc etc.
They told me that what I have come to know was my conditioned identity was the real me---but it isn't!..
The lied to me --in innocent ignorance.
My sister taught me to read and write by the time I was 3 years old.
I grew up knowing,deep down, that I was something else.
Not the 'Something Else' that Ornette Coleman played,on his magnificent disc,either.
War raged elsewhere throughout my childhood--mainly across the seas far away.
I watched flight after flight of four engine bombers roar overhead every day ,on their way to drop bombs on children I would never meet.
There was a busy air base 2 miles away from the house I was born in.
Once an injured bomber,coming back from a raid,crashed in flames on two houses at the top of the street I lived in.
I found war to be a hellish and frightening experience.
And along the way I discovered that I couldnt explain to 'myself' who I was, exactly,either.
That my parenters gift of identity was misleading.
I asked 'myself' who or rather what was I?.
By the time I was 3 years I was a ******* from 'Osteomylitis'--or so they told me.
I couldn't walk with massive  left hip joint pain I suffered.
I spent the years from 3 to 6 in a traction bed in a couple of hospitals.
Gobbling down Cod liver oil and Malt for the vitamins--and it worked!!!.
At 6 I learned to walk--YES!!!.
All that pain was left behind.
Thank you Gautama.
My life was suffering but as you supposedly said.
Suffering can be overcome.
And I overcame it.
And I ran and jumped across streams and climbed trees and walked for miles and miles and danced the dance of life.
I foraged for blackberries and wild mushrooms and crabapples and horseradish roots and rosehips and other fruits of nature.
I fell in love with the song of the Yellowbeak--Blackbird to you.
Became enraptured by the smell of wild Roses in the hedgerows.
And I sang and sang and sang and danced and danced and danced.
And all the while I just knew that I wasn't the body that I was incarnated in.
Even though my parenters kept on insisting that I was that body.
And I knew that I wasn't who they had told me I was either.
I knew that I wasn't the conditioned identity of the body that they insisted I was..
At 9 years I passed an exam and won a free scholarship place at a fee paying 'public' school.
My education started in earnest.
Lain and French andAlgebra and Geometry and  expectations of University.
I fell in love for my very first time at around 12 years old.
Raymond was his name.
He taught me how bisexual I was.
I swallowed litres of his body fluids.
Oh how I loved him.
Then after 2 ecstatic years he rejected me because I was a different class to him.
AAAAARGH!.
Then around 14 years the monthly seizures started.
A regular dark descent into unconsciousness.
I experienced the small death of Julius Ceasar and Leonardo Da Vinci.
Back to waking consciousness after an hours out of the body trip into the Astral realms.
Waking with total total amnesia.
With no mind or conditioned identity but both came back within one hour of waking and took over again.
Along with a helluva headache.
But I woke as me--who or whatever that was.
I wasn't who they said I was.
I was me!.
Whatever that was.
Where did I come from?
My purpose in life became to find out what I was and what the source of my existence was.
Teenage life as a rock n roller started beckoned and I embraced party life.
I won cups of silver for dancing very energetically to Bill Haley and Chuck Berry.
I discovered the other half of my bisexuality.
I found girls.
Oh girls how I love you.
and love you and love you.
I started to play trombone at 18 years.
Then trumpet and drums then into my life walked MISS SAXOPHONE and I melted!!!!.
Alto alto wobbly lines of sound poured out from the bell of my alto sax.
I was 23 and toying with buddhism and social alcoholism and playing saxophone jazz(probably badly).
26 and I got married for the first time.
I was playing Free Jazz rather amateurishly by now.
In 1967 I moved to London--became a longhaired hippy--started my own band called BrainBloodVolume--took many doses(literally 1000s) of pure LSD and Mescaline and Psyllocybin and DMT--embraced diet reform--became ordained as a buddhist monk in 1966--played with Jimi Hendrix and John Lennon and the pink Floyd--went to live in the Balearic Islands--Mallorca,Ibiza,Formentera--started to do oil paintings--had a Master Class in Concert Flute playing from Roland Kirk in the dressing room at Ronnie Scotts Jazz Club in London.Became addicted to Macrobiotic Food and Spring Water and puffing Waccy Baccy(always through a Water Pipe..



Its been seventy seven years in this incarnation that I have been wandering the face of this big ball in space seeking the answer to the eternal questions of life.

What am I and where do I come from and what is my purpose?.

And here  is the answer--!!.

I am an individual isness formed solely from a small but equal independent and autonomous portion of the isness of the universe.

Each individual isness is an eternal, small but equal, independent, autonomous,nameless, formless,genderless,classless,casteless,non physical and unconditionally  loving portion of the isness of the universe.

The isness of the universe is the whole of the nature of reality and is the sole source of all existence and is eternal,nameless,formless, genderless,beingless and autonomous and unconditionally loving and is not a 'god' or a 'goddess' or any kind of being.

I live in the joyousness of shared unconditionally loving union with the isness of the universe.
Maddy Van Buren Apr 2015
an unrelenting headache
only saying words to get girls
to sink into bed with you
as you're too insecure
to ever really
sleep alone
and I know, oh I know
a face pristine
for many reasons
God gave you a look
in lieu of conscience
set fire to your heart,
tongue beating out words,
too many words
I longed to hear
words that made me touch you
you begged for me to touch you
I'm numb since I touched you
pit me against the last
that's all you ever did
but I know, I've known
you keep a tidy home
but there are doors, you say,
leading to nowhere
but I know where
and your closets lock girls inside
trapped in figment
objectified or dignified?
should they be honored
that after you touched their body
and fed them lies
you chose to keep their skeletons
in faroff doorways of the mind?
which only open on occasion
as you reminisce and remember
you never got over her laugh
and her scent never really did leave
and now, here you lay
trapped in bed with another one
but here she lingers
and here she stays
as the new her drops kisses
down your neck; you sweat
and tell her she cannot linger
she cannot stay
her hour glass body run out
sunrise hair faded midday
she's given, given, given
for your take, her mistake
goodnight to your girl
and pray God has mercy
for cruel little heart attacks
like you

— The End —