Migraines Suck

The migraine meds must be getting to me           

I was cutting out pictures –

For my scrapbook, the one

I always joked would be sitting in my lap

When I am older than dirt

And you finally come to see me again –

I was using my best, my sharpest scissors

When my hand began to shake

I dropped the pictures and gripped the handle

Til the knuckles on my right hand

Turned white – my hand shaking all the while.

My hand floated up in the air, the blade

Of the scissors pointing down,

Poised for destruction.

I watched in morbid fascination

As the pointed end made its way, I thought,

Towards the pictures now sitting in my lap.

Ah…but the pictures were not the target

My pale porcelain wrist was.

It occurred to me that I should either

Move my wrist or change the direction of the scissors

But I did neither, and the tip pierced my skin

I felt nothing, really, beyond annoyance

That the scissors hadn’t gone deeper…

So I scratched the tip against my wrist

Over and over and over.

That was dumb.

Hmmm…guess I should go bandage it up.