An ashen stranger returns my gaze.
Her eyes, the window of the soul, tell.
Dull, spiritless with a deathly veil
and deep blue gray circles beneath.
She stares perplexed, mystified.
Her hand touches her forehead.
She winces in pain.
She fumbles clumsily with her pills.
I feel sorry for her.
I turn off the bright bathroom light
so I can no longer see the mirror.
Her eyes, the window of the soul, tell.
Dull, spiritless with a deathly veil
and deep blue gray circles beneath.
She stares perplexed, mystified.
Her hand touches her forehead.
She winces in pain.
She fumbles clumsily with her pills.
I feel sorry for her.
I turn off the bright bathroom light
so I can no longer see the mirror.
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When will I have a job that understands migraines?
Posted 11/19 Comments (1)
It's not that I don't want to work. Migraines make it...
