MyGrain

There is a stabbing behind my eyes
A sharpness attacking my thoughts considered wise.
It's rise
Is brought about from the demise
Of my prized
Memory.
Traces of faces seem to melt
Mold and pelt
The inside of my brain.
I cannot keep straight
What is real,
What might be fake.
I have become the clown, masked with cake.
I turn to tomorrow and ask for help,
But burningg in my head
Is the ever constant yelp
Screaming and tearing from left to right,
Never letting me sleep without fright.