i, the writer

am i the only one i know waging my wars behind my face and above my throat shadows will scream that i'm alone i've got a migraine and my pain will range from up down and sideways thank god it's friday 'cause fridays will always be better than sundays 'cause sundays are my suicide days i don't know why they always seem so dismal thunderstorms clouds, snow, and a slight drizzle whether it's the weather or the letters by my bed sometimes death seems better than the migraine in my head let it be said what the headache represents it's me defending in suspense it's me suspended in a defenseless test being tested by a ruthless examiner that's represented best by my depressing thoughts i do not have writer's block my writer just hates the clock it will not let me sleep, i guess i'll sleep when i'm dead and sometimes death seems better than the migraine in my head am i the only one i know waging my wars behind my face and above my throat shadows will scream that i 

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