Headache

Wording, words, thinking think-
Pulsing backwards, concentration and circulation continuing,   
but pulsing is all I feel.
Everything turns fuzzy, my mind, my life, my eyes, picturesque moments begin to fog up.
Leather against the bottoms of my skull, 
Torture, is all but mentally established.
-Stop!-
It's gone, 
And looking for its next victim.

This poem is about: 
Me

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