An eddying precursor of a storm

is that really acetone

or misfiring neurons that explode

phantom scents to tease my nose

My head shrinks and swells in waves

as vertigo makes me sway

the room swims in perceptual sea

of senses that have lost their way

Searing pain lies in wait

to wash upon my abraded nerves

sending agony to an unwelcome port

pulses of pain crash through my reserves

My sense scream in a useless cry

against this typhon of electric static

sight, scent, sound, even my skin

wail in a rebellion that's become frantic

At last, at last a calm appears

leaving a wreck on nerves in its wake

my body wracked, how I ache

this is just a calm, another storm awaits