Menstrual

Existence is unreasonable,
Unfair, and short.
It is a stagnant river, bottomless.
The edges overflow with birth.
Drought comes from the mortality.

One side is a ballet dancer in the midmorning light,
Waving and vague.
It will dance until lactic acid kills it slowly.
Another shall be reincarnated from its enthusiasm.
This existence here induces a delicate orgasm.

The other side, teetering in black,
Has overgrown nails and spikes on its back.
It is mindless, eyeless and skinless.
And above all, quiet and anemic.
It bathes in its anima, its breath resonating.

Where do I stand?
On the fence, barbed wires cutting my legs?
Should I drown in a river or suffocate in dirt?
Wait…since when do I have to choose?
Yeah, fuck that, I only want to be.