the leak

there is a leak in my brain.
in the base, no bigger than a fly.
the soggy membrane inside
drains slow snotty bubbles.
i found out about it by accident.
one morning, alone at home.
it explains a lot you see,
the leak.
like a toilet that won't stop filling.
that constant gurgling noise,
deep in the back of my head,
where spinal cord meets skull.
i hear it while i sleep,
where unconsciousness bares horror images,
a warning.
they find me in deepest night,
blood pumping, heart hurling me awake.
i catch the last fading slip of shadows
that adorn my bedroom.
shifty and skittish.
perhaps they are the ones who wake me.
to keep my vessel from draining dry.
like milk from the churn.