Headaches Poem by Moth Harris

my desolate mind renders no shelter, no sustenance.
A will to go on, struts along alone, no pedestal beside my thrown.
Electrive waves and lightning impulses, the crash of thunder.
A wide and empty space, beyond my onward looking face.
Every sound it echoes immensely until there's nothing left,
Not a sound, not a thought, erasing all that I've got.
Then it slowly fades with the wind and the waves,
and then it begins another day.