your mornings are my nights.

a poem about migraine.

artwork taken from Pinterest -if you know the artist, please let me know so i can credit them x

I’m too tired to fold.

Too tired to turn my head.

Too tired to pierce right through you.

I’m weak.

I’m weary.

I’m melting, running, dissolving.

Cold sweat on my neck.

My chest on fire.

I’m light as a feather and heavy as a brick.

Lumps in my throat - like an avalanche dashing through my lungs and guts.

Making my bile rise like the tide.

My brain so foggy. Full but empty.

Sadness and anger.

Disappointment and defeat.

Gimme that fucking hot-water bottle and close the god damn curtains.