by Jill Maser
Damn you, Luna, and the curse with which you bind me!
What is my sin that you torture me so?
I ache. Deep inside the pain begins and forms a stone as dark and as heavy as you. That stone weighs upon me. It stiffens my spine. It pulls at my womb.
You taunt me from your place behind the clouds, burning bright, laughing at my plight.
I lay in my lair, curled in agony.
Dare I walk upon this earth?
What havoc shall I wreak?
Whom might I kill?
Oh, the pain, the pain!
I must go forth.
There is only one solution—chocolate.
“Honey! I’ve got wicked PMS. I’m going to the Seven-Eleven.”