A Megrim Portrait
These searing drills of agony bitterer than any memory, when the light is a noisome and noxious sting, and movement is a fracturing pain, again and again. The darkness is a lover within my mind, but the knife in my eye is a burning, hammering, hurting thing. I resist, but I am eroded within smashing waves clawing the sand of my soul in aculeated ruthlessness. I fall, just falling to my knee, bowed by tireless megrim tenebrosity. I need the cold, the frost, and the chill to fight this heated burning for the pain has no pity within its ruthless silent opera. Too much violent soreness to surrender while these migraine-snakes drip venom from chrome plated fangs, slowly piercing my optic nerve, and roughly grating against my will in their scaly provocation. My brain on fire while my thoughts remain raw and sore, my veins shiver, pumping a cranium of broken glass, and yet I will endure, I always do.