Supine Thoughts

1. lying face upwards.

Poetic thoughts on love, life, mental health and the state of society.


8. Migraine

Car in the driveway. 
Curtains drawn.
'Try and be quiet, chick. 
Dad's home with a migraine,
And you know how he gets.'

I know how he gets.

A hailstorm behind the eyes,
Like rain on a car window
Turning street lights into halos, 
And balls of ice tapping,
Tapping on the glass 
Of every door;
Tapping, banging, pounding.

I know how he gets.

I feel the force
Of the storm that rages behind my face too. 
I take two pills, 
stand in the rain with a broken umbrella,
Write six essays on paper like snow under florescent lights,
then drift home,
To that dark room with the curtains drawn.

I know how he gets.

And I know those days
Where the car was parked in the driveway
By lunchtime
Only accounted for a tenth of the time
When the thunder clapped in my father's head
As it claps in mine.
I know how he
Stared into the computer screen
For hours
And the blinding sun stared back.

But when it finally scorched him enough
For him to look away, 
He'd drift home with an aching mind as I do, 
And mum would smile and tell me
How he gets like this, and to be patient
Even if I can't see the storm clouds 
That envelope his mind.

But I know how he gets.
I hear the thunder too.

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