I wrote this while I had a migraine last January.
"Pain. Ever on the edge of my concious, waiting, for me to surcum to its plea. Striking me through hunger. Sadness. A bitter battle always lost by myself. The cost of losing is the pain, the cost of winning, my own restraint.
Today I lose.
Sweet delicious tootsie rolls melting in my mouth, giving me the appearance of chocolate. The endorfines of love. And I collaps having taken 800 miligrams of Ibprophen and slip into [his] large warm gray hoodie before letting my dreams take me away from this pain."
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