head pressure

by christycelia

Solitary.
Accompanies me in the rooms I sit,
an old friend who has made himself comfortable,
settled
into my life routine;
puts the dirt beneath nails so to scrape away
by teeth.
The taste of today’s extras
lingers long enough so I am reminded
to eat away problematic thoughts.
Extract the itch from my foot
the pitch from my throat
the ache of my body, afloat
in yesterday speak.
Something in the frontal lobe
burrows further, as if space has been granted.
That which is solitary
does not understand its true home,
outside the body
where it may shrivel into itself.
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