P.M.S.

Pre-Menstrual Suffering.

I have no skin.
I am just bare exposed nerve endings.
I feel everything.
I know everything, and nothing.
Enlightened and lost.
My soul screams in confusion and indecision
as chemicals rage through my system.
Out of control, out of my mind.
I want to be loved, I need to feel loved,
but am avoided at all costs.
I hear and smell every little thing,
all my senses are bombarded.
I am overloaded.
I cannot cope with all there is,
every noise a raucous cacophony of disharmonic sound,
drowning out the delicate harmonic of peace.
I pray for calm and respite, but respond
and tremble to the chaos and strain all around
me and within.
Energy like the sea, once calm and soothing,
whipped in moments into a gigantic wall of frothing rage,
terrifying and destroying everything in its path,
only to end it’s cycle tiptoeing playfully onto the beach,
bubbles caressing around the pebbles,
almost shyly apologetic.
Was that really me?.

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