That time of the month

It's a bitch. A bane. It leaves you for just long enough to forget how it felt. How it hurt. Then in slithers back. Slowly, cunning, calculating. It's not an easy to describe Sharp stab or bite. No. It's a constrictor. A suffocater. It strikes suddenly. Wraps tightly around my guts. It squeezes. It squeezes. It squeezes the life out of me. Harbinger of woe an misery. Bless whoever made pain killers.