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