Tortuous Beating Drum
Blinding flash of light;
sword pierces my eyeball and sears;
a burning scorch of nausea,
cauterizes my stomach lining.
Unfolding bellows force the pressure,
throughout my blood stream.
Boom…boom…boom…boom…migraine;
the worlds worst drummer,
plays out it’s tortuous tune.
It knows, I love music,
but none can love, this drummer’s.
Light and sound, become the enemy;
odors are torturous terrorists.
The senses are the first thing to be seared;
the whole body’s ensnared.
Out of darkness,
creeps the freedom turtle;
to arrive, with the cure.
Copyright © M. L. Kiser | Year Posted 2019
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