PMT (Poetry)

It is that time again -the moon is full
and something in her rises to the fore,
primitive, the tide's relentless pull
drags the anger boiling at her core.

She frowns and there's a wildness in her eyes;
her body tenses, awkward in her skin;
she cannot rest however hard she tries
but fights the crazy demon deep within.

Irrational, she knows her blood will cool
the moment that the dizzy tide has turned
and that mad fire, impossible to rule,
will die away as though it never burned.