A Sonnet
Sunday morning, my tongue is cracked and dry,
A thousand tiny men inside my brain,
Each banging drums and dancing to my pain,
Last night’s wine I taste whenever I sigh
My bed, raft I cling to, feeling awry
The intense vertigo I can’t contain
And migraine headaches driving me insane
Lowest of the lows after last night’s high
The fridge holds nothing but two-week old cheese
Globs of something I haven’t got a clue
Find me a pizza crust, anything please!
And so, I swear to change, to start anew
Steadfast I’ll be, e’en if this headache flees
Next week for sure, there’ll be no déjà vu
09-03-2024
© Vic Evora