Simple sickness
Living in hearts
It is called a cold
Very young it starts

Heavy, holding
The headache on high
Aching, swelling
Dropping down from the sky

The simple falter
Multiple times a year
Ultimate pain
Fringing in fear

Floating, withering
That dreadful headache on high
Confident in struggle
Not the least bit shy

Even when physique
Is in top gear
The head still pounds
Like a frightening shear

The mentality it holds
Aided by the pill
Is not a sickness at all
If the person remains still

That damned emotion it seems
Is blocked by the minds
That the headache on high
It touches and finds

Reaching further inside
It goes deeper it seems
Growing vastly enough
The headache on high beams

When it finally leaves
To return another day
The headache on high
Finds its next prey