It starts off like a trickle,
A flick of the light,
A trick of the eye,
A bit of the blind,
The it hits like a brick,
Right at the back of the head,
The throbbing,
The light,
The wishing for death,
But after a while,
It all goes away,
The pain subsides,
The brain relaxes,
The main is over,
Next is the mood,
It’s up so high,
It’s down so low,
It’s all over the place,
Not knowing where to go,
And all that is left,
Is feeling drained,
That is my attacks,
Of a migraine.
Author: The Pesky Poet
Never assume that you are no good at what you love as if you love it enough you will make it better. Take that form a dyslexic who was told they would never be able to write with any quality.
Thank you for reading and please feel free to follow https://peskypoetry.co.uk
