The slicing, searing pain,
that throbs, never relenting.
A glimmer of light,
becomes a blinding flash.
The slightest footstep,
is cannon-fire to my ears.
A kind soft word,
turns to vicious verbal attack.
I would advise you,
not to cross me today.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Aren't you too young to be hungover? -c