Sensitivities

The purple pulsing behind your eyes started a while ago. Pounding at your temples it hounds you, its crashing ringing in your ears. A violin accompanies it, screeching to the din inside your head as the lights above you seem to grow ever brighter. You can almost feel the contusions forming from the sounds alone, masses of blue-black on your skin, tarnishing your face with their bleak marks, adding to the ones left by the scratch of fabric that set you on fire, everyday clothing turning against your body.