Ravin's Ramblings

There is a spider that lives inside my head. He’s a mechanical thing of shiny surgical instruments and dull gray gunmetal. Each of his eight needle sharp legs is barbed with razor thorns instead of the fuzz of steel wool. He casts a black web where he treds across my brain, dredging up dark dreams and distorted visions. Each tiny little pinprick of its pointy little leg sinks into my frontal lobe and causes an explosion of pain while white and black flecks dance across eyes. He steps on this neuron then that and tricks my nostrils into thinking they’re filled with the odor of rotten oranges or feral cats. It can take days to snap free from his black web, the mechanical machination is elusive. There is a spider that lives inside my head. His name is Migraine.