PAIN: ME_S_S
I want to call it a thief, crawling in late at night
But it never came without a warning
I want to call it an intruder, breaking in without a notice
But it did send messages ahead
It mild pain to the stomach here and there
Sometimes it sent mild pain to the legs
Not to forget the face, it sent bullets to the chin
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Yet, its entrance is always bloody
For its messages fail to prepare one properly everytime
Maybe it’s because they’re so subtle that one could easily ignore them
Maybe that makes it a thief
Its appearance always sends shock shivering down one’s spine
It strolls in, head held up high with it’s battalion
It stations millions of needles to the stomach
It strikes the knees with feebleness
It doesn’t leave out the legs either turning them weak as straw
One’s whole body is paralyzed because of it
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The sticky substance it births is somewhat a sign
Its redded flood strikes a cord
For some, it pours relief
The relief from anxiety about procreating
For some, it springs misery
The misery of not procreating
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Should one fear it or should one adore it?
Should one despise it or should one embrace it?
I wonder if it’s hostesses have the luxury to think these things
For they deal with the pain it brings and clean up the mess it causes.
