Boutique of the mind, 
Dreams danced like begonias. 
Laughter is a beatbox; 
Lies a bedlam of sorrows. 
On the bed of roses, 
I am bedfellows with pain.

Olfactory

Scent of memories blurs; 
Fragrances linger in the corridor. 
Nostalgia evokes the scent of lost perfume, 
A bouquet of beatitude in the pre-flame.

Optic

Eyes held the light, 
But now we are closing in the darkness. 
Throw the book in the bucket of paint, 
Robbed of the sight of seeing tomorrow’s lightning, 
Kaleidoscope of dreams in a pit.

Oculomotor

Eyes are filled with grief; 
Brawls yet are veiled with disbelief. 
Lost in the breech birth, 
While wiping the tears, 
I am a puppet to suicidal thoughts.

Trochlear

I move my eyes like a tiger, 
Before I developed diplopia. 
For the pain of a dreamer, 
Like a pint-sized pocket.

Trigeminal

I feel pain like fire; 
I am branching off on the mandibular. 
Yet the dog bit me; 
I am burning 
In this cage of cacophony. 
Stop sending pain like a burning bush.

Abducens

Eyes like a vulture, 
Looking for carry-on on the table. 
I am paralyzed in the vicinity; 
I am scared to close my eyes 
With this black vulture around.

Facial

The mask of melancholy, 
Worn like a masquerade. 
The smile was swept away in the race 
And erased.

Vestibulocochlear

Lost in the sea of sound, 
I pilgrimage in silence, 
Just to sow the seeds of hope. 
But the deafening growl 
Is not burning bright, 
So the sorrows are piggyback.

Glossopharyngeal

Words stick together like peanut butter; 
Language struggles to breathe like a mic burner. 
Voice like plain flower, 
The silence in my throat feels like a painful flower, 
Suppressed by ramipril.

Vagus

A bat winding in a pothole of sorrow, 
Water pouring through the stream at night. 
Looking for a new tomorrow, 
Lost in the midst of the beast of burden. 
An odyssey of healing like a new tale of a lizard.

Accessory

Shoulders of wrath burning with fire, 
Struggle to escape the power of the grave. 
A lonely boat lies with sleep.

Hypoglossal

Voice is filled with grief; 
Words cutting like a knife. 
There is blood on the leaves; 
I made an oath of silence, 
So my voice is automated. 
A whisper of sorrow fades like a pregnancy.

Every morning I turn on the lights 
And put my sorrows to rest. 
12 blue mosey, pain like a mournful bard; 
Funeral and pain
He becomes a mugger at night.