the headache.

[rowens]

light sears through my cornea,
into my brain
feels the same
as when it was pushed
out of my mother’s vagina
and into a yellow room

they say it’s calming
but I find nothing whimsical about shit
in mold cracks and
ammonia stained tiles

i want to light a cigarette
but Jenkins told me it’s bad
he put pictures on his tele box
pictures of black lungs and
tubed throats.

we all write when we’re weak
because there’s nothing to talk about
when your head’s in the sink

Maybe if you trimmed the first stanza a little more, cut a few words, and change "out of" to "from":


light sears my cornea,
my brain
feels the same
as when it was pushed
from my mother’s vagina
into a yellow room

....Something like that?