Static

the low buzz of pain
over my eyebrows
has moved from white noise
that I can block out
with conscious effort
to the heaviness
of a small hippo
pushing down into
the front of my skull
leaving the back
of my neck
throbbing
my left eyelid droopy
my thoughts
in tatters
I reach ineffectively
for ideas as they float by
try to concentrate
on everything
I had hoped
to do today
but the inside of my head
is filled with stinging wasps
and resembles the screen
of my grandmother’s
13 inch black and white TV
at 2 am
I am nothing
but the snow
of static
again

© 2019 Christine Elizabeth Ray – All Rights Reserved

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