I know the migraine is on its way.
Dull throbbing to full on spite
It’s a juggernaut that inexorably
Moves through plane after plane
Of my brain
Until all my consciousness
And all my being
Is concentrated on that giant ball of ache that is my head
The migraine is somewhat like an old overpowering friend
I accept and I am resigned
To the sweeping wave
That torpedoes away
Deadlines, stresses, expectations, and snares
No matter how grave.
I go through the motions:
I eat, I take pills
I draw the curtains and
Huddle within quilts
Sometimes I cuddle my head
Sometimes I stare straight ahead
When I wake up, the ball of pain is gone
Leaving tendrils that shiver and taunt
I close my eyes and probe
Every part of my brain, skull and bone
From inside and out
I identify the tendrils
I picture yanking them out
A form of weed kill
I spend the next hour in a state of bliss
And feel relief for my climb out from the abyss
Till the next visit
I am till then fully me and mine.
