Major headache version
The Angry Prisoner
Like an angry prisoner
locked up in a cell
He rattles at the gate
and tears up the bed.
He keeps me from writing,
his screaming cripples me;
he bites on every nerve,
and chews on every vein.
He claws against the walls
that hold him within
until his nails are jagged,
his fingers bleeding.
I want him released,
but I don’t have the key.
The prisoner swells in pain,
his suffering becomes me.
Minor headache version
The Spoilt Child
Like a naughty child
grounded to his room,
he shouts from the window
and jumps on the bed.
I’d like to ignore him,
continue my writing,
but I can feel him
scribbling on the walls.
He stamps his little feet
across the wooden floor.
He throws his toys about,
destroys the color blocks.
I put on some music
and read to him a story,
but at every word or beat
he digs his nails into me.
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