Dear Migraine

You followed me home last night, which was more like the early morning, pounding yourself into me.

You are raged and runny, leaking your expired rust throughout my cerebral cortex.

I am phonophobic now, but how can I dance? Earlier, a disco ball’d Poet with red smile, length of the longest river all curled around her face, pressed her body to mine and you, you needed to trigger my skull with pounding. Are you jealous?

You are thrusting screams into my euphoric belly. You promised you promised you’d remain in my mind, slur my sight, but never sweat into my limbs.

Are you genetic? Are you persistent? Will you find me once again today? In interview? In creative circle where words are gathered like bouquet of performances?

Do I need to file a restraining order, migraine? Do I?

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