The Headache

Feel it when you first wake up
And ignore the growing throb
Pour the poison in your cup
To stifle a shuddering sob
Bring it to your lips and drink
Then go about your day
Cough your blood up in the sink
And whisper, 'come what may.'

Impress the wandering eyes of love
Adorn yourself with silk
This dress, you see, fits like a glove
Creamy as mother's milk
Disregard your blurring sight
Find comfort in your curse
And though your head is getting light
You clumsily grab your purse

Out the door, he grabs your arm
To steady your wobbling frame
He speaks to your eyes in deep alarm,
"Your ailment is to blame."
And here you have to look away
My slave, I swear it's best
He needn't help you dig your grave
Or lay my soul to rest