Like the unsavory memories of a turbulent life-affair, you cling to me. Like the sounds of "pokin' at me, pokin'at me" staccato notes, you surround me with your presence and boldly delight in my despair. Is your thorn-like pain my self-inflicted, self imposed initiation? As proof, I offer to snap your picture, but you hide insidiously inside my head, making those around me think I'm a hyprochondriac or worse, just plum crazy.But you always let me know you're still inside me as you keep screaming your name,inside my brain ..."MIGRAINE!!"