I’m in hospital. It turns out the cold I had a couple of weeks ago has morphed itself into a form of bronchitis, along with a cyst on my vocal chords, which will be operated on next week. It’s come with headaches, coughing fits and fevers. I’m in safe hands in hospital and I feel I’m on the mend now, although for a while I was wondering when the lurgy would shift. It turns out paracetamol, hot lemon and honey drinks and homemade remedies only get you so far. Sometimes you just have to get the big boys in to ween out whatever virus pollutes you.
For the migraines, I’ve written a poem. I have nothing else to do. American TV is boring me to death and I’ve done my quota of reading for the day. There’s only so much one can take speaking like Darth Vader through the gas mask.
Enjoy the poem, nonetheless.
Seething, scrouging, scrounging,
It stealthily swims its way in.
Masking in crannies, lingering to pounce,
It slithers with a vengeful grin.
Hop, skip, jump,
It finds rhythm in sounds beyond the walls.
Pounding, punching, probing,
Then, the brain stalls.
Massacring cells, slashing at neurons,
Your head begins to drop.
Throb, throb, throb,
Your chain of thoughts stop,
Clang, clang, clang,
Stinging spasms rush through the wires in your head,
Bang, bang, bang,
In your membrane it makes its bed.
Red and black, black and red,
Colours and lights prick your senses,
Eyes sting, bearings loosen,
You know it’s there ‘cos you dropped your defenses.
Splashing, bathing, swimming in paradise,
The parasite is having fun.
Slip a pill, a couple from the blue packet.
That fucking migraine will soon be done.