by Andreia Amaral De Sousa

Created on: January 16, 2009   Last Updated: February 05, 2009

PMS

It is Monday... Rush hour...

I am hideously soaked wet!

My name is grrrumpiness should you dare to ask!

It is such a disgrace to spot your spotty face on a rainy afternoon,

But that was just me reflected in the bus window

I'm stuck in a sardine tin, joined by all spotty faces from the entire BT phone book

I'm on a bus where there's no sign of reciprocal respect...

I'd rather be at my local butcher staring at dead swine..............

But quickly back to reality: they just seem to have come back awfully alive from the cutting board.

I see one, two, three, dozens of pigs...so I give up on Maths.

I witness tons of rotten sausages being thrown into the bus door,

They now chase seats, fight over inches where their shoes would fit

I witness the animal battles to turn the newspapers pages,

Plus: the disgusting eye contact avoidance followed by each silent squeal...

Everyday is the same,

The same weary faces, buses ads, drivers and papers,

Nothing new to view, not even the fabricated noon news,

I glare well above the two digit bacon-heads at the least faded bus ad,

I keep staring at it until it starts squealing...

I shut my eyes; I know each word, colour, font and size of it.

I've had enough: I squeal in my thoughts!

These voices, no seats, these swine...

Nowhere to fit, nor enough air to inhale...

So I cough, cough, cough...

glad to share beautiful viruses with others!

At home, as if released from jail,

The chocolate box waves at me,

I am just about to get the control,

I firmly hold my remote control and turn the telly on,

I ache,

I deeply sob,

and it feels bloody good.

I'm a leech sucking teardrops out of the TV,

For my mental restoration...

I let the sorrow explore my veins

To unravel what lies in this bleeding womb.

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