Migraine #1, 2016

An aged ribbon hangs like a worn-out bra strap over pulsing and swollen membranes spattered with black grit and blasted by unseen forces. Nausea is a green scum rising from stomach into mouth. Sunlight is nine-inch nails pounded into the right eye. I move my arm and the rasp of fabric on chair-arm is the roar of great winds. I breathe slowly, carefully; my shallow breathing is a rattle of steel brushes on cymbals in my skull. Perhaps I will catch up with myself tomorrow. For today, I am in this familiar hell, keeping company with a worn fragility. 


I didn’t know, when I found this image earlier, that I would develop a migraine before I could produce my writing for today. I had other topics in mind, but I have forgotten what they were. I am wearing sunglasses to dim the light of the computer screen, but my eyes hurt when I move them. I have taken sumatriptan and am waiting for it to knock me out and give me rest.