624 – Migraine sutra

Tiny iron teeth
Gnawing at the roots
Of a single purple rose
Within my head.

A steady rain of acid blossoms
Puncture reality’s cocoon,
Pointing at the face of pain
With a single bony finger.

Light sweetly sledgehammers
Its way across a pulsing brain
Leaving on its wake
A path of shredded crystal buddhas.

No way in or out,
Just a rocking paper boat
Spinning down
A black hole drain.

Breathe in,
Just ride the storm.

Blinding pain
And fiery nausea
Roar and slash,
But eventually burn out.

Breathe out,
Just let it pass.

• • •

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