My pulse pounds on my ear drums like the beat of a trance song in a dance club that is the soundtrack to the six a.m. news because a couple teens overdosed until they were comatose thanks to a hot new illegal drug with a hip name and a solid history of peer-pressure. You might as well be dead if you don't do it, and you might as well be called dead if you do. This migraine is everywhere, my knees shake from my throbbing skull. Morning time is a painful time and it hurts to wake up. Looking in the mirror is like walking througha graveyard on a foggy morning where the sun doesn't want to rise. Its like stepping over bodies of the passed out and the date-raped on the way from the DJ to the door. It hurts to go on, to even begin to guess what it was I let myself do last night. The pounding in my head is like knocking on the door, and the ringing in my ears is off the hook. Ringing like the hands of the angry unpaid pimp whose had it up to here with those Johns. I've been answering the door constantly, it's either paranoia or someone playing a game with me. Maybe I'm going insane. But maybe I'm getting my sanity back. Either way, it's something I'd rather not do. I just want this headache to go, I just want to stop paying for last night.