When The Blood Ran Black

Migraines

The silence is so goddamn deafening.
I can't handle them.
The ringing, the voices,
the crowds that twist and scream with
ecstasy inside my skull.
The darkness is just as bad,
with a thousand bright shiny spotlights aimed
straight into my eyes.
But when I run into the safety of others,
they show up in the most real way possible:
humans posing as demons,
whereas my demons pose as humans.
Confusing me so I run into their shadowed arms instead of flesh.
My migraines cause the world to change.
To switch so much that my angels harbor death and gloom,
and my demons have such beautiful peace.
I don't know what to think,
which I guess is okay,
considering that my mind is so packed with pain that
thoughts are impossible to even think about.
So I don't.