Wordsworthless

This should be emotions
Recollected from tranquility
But serenity doesn't come
When one is free-falling.

No reason, no rhyme
No beautiful lines
And the subject
Is rather vague, too.

Because how can you say
Elegantly with symbols
(For that's all words are,
Elephants to nine blind men),

That your mother called you fat
As she had for a score,
And all the heavy issues
Attached to it--ignored completely.

You can't,
And the words
Die in your mouth
And become useless.

Period

It’s burning white vision bursting at the tops of my eyes.

    It’s nausea, shivering and plunging at ten thousand feet. Pulsing, pounding pressure, starting from the low centre of my body and radiating downwards until I can’t move, can’t do anything but lie limply on the bed. Every step taken is an epic battle in itself. Cold sweat becomes rivulets pouring down my spine.
    Considering this happens once a month, it’s shocking how we’re considered “the weaker sex.”