A migraine sounds

Like an orchestra trying

And dying

As it fails to sing

Dropping all its notes

Across the metallic floor

Scratching and screaming

A failed lullaby

A migraine looks

Like television static

Trying to swallow the world

A misshapen sun

Growing in a lonely corner

Stealing color and clarity

Warping the edges of its confines

Until it blazes alone

A migraine smells

Like a dumpster

After a mid-summer rain

The rotting averages

Of a neighborhood’s filth

Soaking the stone

With its putrid bile

Waiting to be emptied

A migraine tastes

Like the bitterest pill

Accidentally bitten

Its powder coating the mouth

Washed by water

Only to return

The crumbs of chalk

Lingering on the tongue

A migraine feels

Like a cold fire

A hot ice

An infinite cage

A purgatory in your blood

A thousand needles

Stuck to your back

That you know

You will never be able to remove

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.

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.

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A migraine

Is a day you set aside

To let the pain run through your body

Until the medicine has caught up

To slow the menace down

And tackle it to the ground

Enough for you to rise

And hear, see, smell, taste, feel

Another week, month, or even year

Free of its crushing embrace