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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