first revision-

Headache
--
She strokes my face as if she is afraid
it will break.
She asks, would it hurt less,
if you let yourself?

But I've never yelled,
not out loud
never moaned,
never growled

like a dog, startled. All the same,
no silent tossing of my head
can put out the wet fire in my skull.

And yet,
all the same,
the coolness in her fingertip distracts.

It does hurt less, when I close my eyes,
though the dark light that blinds
still presses against the back of sore lids.

It does hurt less, when I make myself breathe,
though my neck does not unbend
from the unreal weight of it.

But the release of a scream,
I slowly explain,
would be too much to bear.

I leave silent
the jaw clenched tightly open
and hands straining to clutch at temples;
the self that screams inside my mind.

She presses the mug into my hands,
and strokes my face.