Hormones

They're out of wack and there's definitely a little imbalance there, especially during these couple of days. I shall write bad poems....

The system of my flesh is fluttered with inconsistencies
which when built up will shatter all sense in me
When the trees in the woods all look the same
is when I retrace my tracks to an unreachable destination,
Swimming in a river I've already swam,
Crossing an ocean with no el dorado,
Transforming melted snow to lies white hot,
Because closure lies hidden,
When I'm stubbornly chasing pavements,
Building inconsistencies and missing myself
When I'm not progressing; Shattering common sense
When I'm Tracing, Swimming, Crossing
Hollows, where I scream unheard.