Migraine Day 2

There's only so much time that may be spent

Within a darkened shower, crouched below

A torrent of hot water, limbs all bent

To fit within the bathtub. Soon the flow

Becomes a cold one; fingertips turn prunes

And joints begin to ache. If it's not gone

By then, it's going to stay. Forget those tunes

You thought you'd play, the plans you'd dote upon

For doing anything; the world is small

And cruelly sharp; it pierces senses, roils

The stomach 'til it empties and the gall,

Its taste remains e'en as the scen'ry boils

Before the eyes. I do not want to be

The person this is happ'ning to. Not me.