Summer Journal #1 (COMPLETE)

Shakespearean Migraine

am i the only one i knoweth,

waging mine own wars behind mine own visage and above mine own throat?

shadows shall screameth yond i'm high-lone.

I-I-I I've did get a migraine

and mine own teen shall range from up, down, and sideways,

thanketh god t's friday

'cause fridays shall at each moment beest bett'r than sundays

'cause sundays art mine own suicide days,

i knoweth not wherefore those gents at each moment seemeth so dismal,

thund'rst'rms, clouds, snoweth, and a slight drizzle,

wheth'r t's the weath'r 'r the lett'rs by mine own sleep chamber,

oft death seemeth bett'r than the migraine in mine own headeth,

alloweth t beest hath said what the headache represents,

t's me defending in suspense,

t's me suspend'd in a defenseless testeth

being did test by a ruthless examin'r

yond's represent'd most wondrous by mine own depressing thoughts,

i doth not has't writ'r's block,

mine own writ'r just hates the horologe,

'twill not alloweth me catch but a wink, i guesseth i'll catch but a wink at which hour i'm dead,

and oft death seemeth bett'r than the migraine in mine own headeth.