third shift
The space between my ribs
Right down the center
Sternum, I believe.
That’s where he lives
It’s where he hides
Until the lights flicker out and go dim
Or blood is drawn.
He clocks in,
Begins his shift.
No set hours
As the clock ticks on, a pendulum waiting for its next victim
He grows bigger
Pushing up and out
Of his tiny hiding place
His bony white fingers
Pursue the thin’ outer wall of my tired heart.
Pushing just hard enough to hurt
Hard enough to bleed, crimson red drops of years lost
His warm whispers
Send shivers down my once strong arms
Wounds of last night
Threaten to break open
Setting free the river of life that once was within me
The scabbed barriers
Plead with the outer air
Begging to part, to let the blood flow
His strong legs propel his body to my brain
He never loses a race
Always the fastest
The strongest. First place
So quiet and somber
He does not scream
He does not rage
His words are few
Simple but effective
“never good enough”
I never thought
The little demon in the space
Between my ribs
Could take over
Completely encompass my soul
With those 3 little words
convincing bastard
Ive tried to evict
Alas, every time this begins
He simply clocks in
And begins his shift
As the monster by doctor calls
“anxiety”
In the tiny space between my ribs