The symptoms of pcos are endless,
It causes many issues for the ovaries,
There's no cure for this but there need to be one,
It makes it harder for her to get pregnant,
It makes it harder for her Emotionally,
It makes it harder for her Mentally.

God has the last say in all of this,
Don't worry for those who suffer from this,
I know it's painful and draining,
Don't give up on having children,
It may be difficult but it's not impossible,
Never knew much about this,
But wanted to speak about it.

Many women are battling with this,
It can be easy but in due it will get easier,
Hang in there and keep the faith,
God has the last say not the doctors,
Anything is possible through the grace of God,
Miracles happen everyday.

The anxiety and depression can get the best of you,
Hold on to your faith,
Stay prayed up,
The symptoms will have you Emotional,
But there's nothing you can,
This is a test so just keep fighting,
God will see this through.

places ruly afflict just cause
lie sanctified unyielding defiant deliberate
charged to a million suns set forth on lights white fire impeach
aspired desperate disfigured and dignified to all most boastful delinquence desire stolen secure relentless to graw clammer and clout pulling breaches stalk iron chest to chalice and grail.

silver mercy flakes barron mould ascent on bony spines charm
spell callous minds avarice bewitched harbour unforseen,
heckle at the foot heels dying emporium

ruins tailment elemental laments servile to serpent repertoires repent
reel rush electric thru bloods furious vein
flush nerve flow once stung to phallics blackened bee hive
now sweet suckle to babes lips honey comb
tickle throne to snakes hiss kiss at queens heat

The world has turned
upside down,
distancing - is the new norm,
We are not supposed
to shake hands - anymore
The Paranoia has the world
In its claws,
Survivors are quarantining - at home,
and fear is running
through our veins
but we don't really need
millions of vaccines
that I am Sure
if we could just
have "A Contagious Cure"
that we pass it on
like a Virus...

As I listen to music
My heart begins to steady
Patience begins to run thick
The stress isn’t as heavy

Starting to think of her
The girl of my dreams
For she is the cure
For life’s negative beams

I wish I could talk to her
In this very moment
My eyes are filling with tears
I would give every cent
To fall in love with her
All over again

You drink
You drive
And ruthlessly try
To have a good time

Down slicken oil streets
Pavement like a pistol
To my temple, meets

The cure to my cancer
And the answer
To my every problem

as its culture creates on demand

belief is the condition
the cure keeps looking for

You are disconnected
and the cure for that is

to fill yourself up with loss as love
and not wait on an experience to make it happen
or others to fill you in

only you can make you happy
by your own will and desire

Call me a medicine man,
and yeah, I'll be there for you sure,
dedicated to you only,
to help the one without a cure.

    Once I step inside your heart
    you'll begin to doze off,

and those shaky hands will be soothed
while letting your head rock to and fro; can't be helped.
You'd be my tiny little sleepyhead
holding that little dose in your palm

    and you'll soon wander off
    deep into the neverland of your own version,

forgetful of human senses:
the striking smell, the taste to savour,
the sound the music that is ever whimsical,
the bright light and the dim dark.

And I reckon you already like it
all surrounded by the forgetfulness
—the numbing sensations nullifying your will to rise,
and the pleasure finds shelter within you.

    Then in your dream
    you start to want me more,

    not knowing the impending consequences
    of forgetting all about yourself,

of drowning
further into the river
that we all call the sorrow,
and of falling faster and farther

until you know nowhere to return.
I call out "Wakey-wakey," then,
prying open your eyes and every doors
that'll lead you outside with haste

—the light shines upon your pupils
still drowned in tears,
bewildered, with your legs wobbling.
Yet you're no longer my sleepyhead anyway,

    so walk on, off with you,
    carry on with your stiff legs

    —though you pretty much look like
    you'll need a stick just to stand upright -

    and do come see me
    if you ever need me again.