On Writing Doggerel with a Headache

A dull flame burning softly,
A coal that can't be found,
The kind of cunning presence
That wraps itself around

All weak and harried branches
Insinuatingly
And squeezes them quite lightly
With vicious subtlety -

This thin, electric nightmare
Is haunting my poor brain,
And, as I seek in caverns
The source of all my pain,

I feel it coursing through me
(If "course" is the right word -
In this context of dullness
It seems rather absurd).

I guess I'm lost in caverns
And hearing water flow.
I'm searching for it somewhere,
But where I do not know,

Or if I want to find it
And sink into its grip,
Peer down into the water
And from the bank then slip

Into the endless darkness,
Not once more to be seen,
A dimly fading image,
A soon-forgotten dream.

The other choice is fighting,
Trying to shed some light -
To rip away the darkness,
Annihilate the night,

But light is so elusive
Enclosed in all this gloom.
I don't think I can find it
When all I see is doom.

I can't stand, have no power,
When inundated so.
This is a tale of sadness,
A true maelstrom of woe.