You Are My Headache

I have a headache that runs from my forehead to my jawbone

And the sound of each move annoys me. The existence of you

Is like a plague raining down on humanity and kicking me out of

The way. It’s the bile rising in the throat of a rat. It the clear night

Speckled with hail and covered in coats of pollution, turning blue

To grey to black. Each sound of you is my headache made worse

And I drink to get rid of the sight of you because you hurt my soul

And being. You kill every inch of happiness that may or may not be

Dripping from my eyes as they throb and kill in the back - my tears

Absolutely and utterly stuck in the back, the headache makes me

Queasy and your life makes it worse. A headache I would be able

To take if it were not for you staying here now and alive. And so

You had to die.

Stuck in your room, each angered step of my toes across the tufted floor

And each of those stairs creaking, each of your breaths lodging in your

throat. The overcoat of night shifting between each step as I conjure my

Courage, step forth and quiet, as you are not awake.

Quiet.

A protest, a sign, a march is not necessary.

Oh dear god how I tried to give you everything I had.

I gave in to each demand and each press of affliction

I was subservient and wrong - I had been blissfully unaware.

For now I was upset, and depressed and wronged and-

And gone.

Quiet.

I stand above you and look down at you sleeping, each nightmare

In my eyes behind yours and you would never believe it. If you lived for

Their accusations you would protect me against all costs but never really

Asked me what I want and maybe that is just what I want. I keep the orange

Hooded jacket on as I step above your head and to make sure the deal is

Done, insert the-

Quiet.

You didn’t even make a sound and I sit upon that beige floor.

You sleep the sleep of the next thousand nights and I open

My brown eyes wide against my glasses, staring into the darkness

Of my own kitchen, holding the meat cleaver and watching the moonlight

Pour through the window at 3am.

I know you’re awake.

I can still hear you breathing.