« Michele: Things That Go Bump | Main | Ted: Worked to Death »

July 22, 2005

The Eschatologist: The Last Victim

When doesn't my head hurt?

Every day. Every night. Oh, Lord, the nights.

A dull throbbing as the sun breaks the plane of the earth. Then a pinching feeling in the back of my skull. This is followed by the ice picks. Right into my sinus cavities. I shouldn't scream or cry, but I do, despite knowing it's coming. Then the stars, then black.

I can't remember a goddamned thing. Every night. Nothing.

The sun cracks the other horizon and the pain fades in reverse.

There's just me. Exhausted again. Blood everywhere in some anonymous tramp motel. Mother Fucking MK-ULTRA.

Bookmark: del.icio.us • Digg • reddit