Migraines, oh migraines.
The sirens that bloom in my brain.
Lilacs, oh lilacs
They blossom sea blue in my veins.
Carnations, carnations—
Blood scarlet on wet asphalt gray.
Sirens, oh sirens—
They howl and scream once again.
Migraines, oh migraines—
In my temples, they toll like bells,
They ring and they ring,
and they toy with and torture my brain.
Arena, arena—
They batter, they bruise, they restrain.
Like hay made of needles,
The bottomless pit-hole of pain.
migraines
© Copyright: Владислав Вольнов, 2026
Свидетельство о публикации №126111105633
Свидетельство о публикации №126111105633
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