Queen's Pawn

A poem about my increasingly painful headaches.

The truly solemn place is non-existent.
Every mirror holds no reflection,
Every word no purpose.

Neurons and sinew tearing,
Oblong needles piercing.

An eternity spent on d3,
Regretting not going to d4.

The plates crash and grind;
An earthquake in San Francisco.

Want of sleep is a dream.
Four little pills at half ten do no good,
Neither does my red yogurt.

The End

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