P.M.T.

Heightened hormones aren’t funny

I’ve mentioned this before

When your moods are unpredictable

And rationality is no more

When you feel like you’ve been peeled

And you’re literally exposed and raw

When you veer from hyper to a sobbing wreck

Or throw tantrums not knowing what for

When all you want to do

Is snuggle up, cocooned in your bed

And cry yourself to sleep

Or gorge on chocolate and junk instead

When no matter what you do

You simply feel depressed

When you’re beyond tired and weary

And can’t be arsed to get dressed

When you’re swollen and puffy and sore

And can’t bare to look in the mirror

When your skin feels greasy and pimples sprout

And you swear last week you were thinner

When the cramps begin to start

And it feels like you’re going into labour

When the hot flushes cause you to weep with perspiration

And you crave the weirdest of flavours

I recommend

You batten down the hatches

Interact with no one

Thus averting disasters

For not a soul is safe

When you’re in this state

On the shortest of fuses

Bloated, full of hate

Do the world a favour

And stay inside!

Until sanity returns

And your boobs are back to their normal size!

It may sound shocking

But it’s for the best

Because every month it’s like the mark of the Beast

Is inscribed upon my head

I know not what I’m possessed by

But it’s demonic and scary to see

A virtual life sentence ‘til I hit menopause

This b**tard they call P.M.T.

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