Still a fighter

Lying awake, a hot forehead nestled against

the scratchy surface of the pillow,

I’m all in knots.

My feet, my hands, my heart

my mind, oh my mind – in pieces.

I curl myself up, making my limbs contort

and wishing myself smaller.

Maybe if I curl up enough I will simply float away

on all my empty thoughts.

Tangles in my stomach that pull

and itch and a wrenching

inside my knuckles,

like I want to punch or kick or just

rip my heart right out of my chest.

I know the feeling creeping up

on me.

It’s an old friend, a demon in the dark,

crawling out of my spleen

with it’s sharp little nails

scrabbling up my intestine, my throat.

The bastard.

I’m praying for morning as I curl myself tight,

my eyes on the yellow street light

blinking outside my window.

I’m waiting for the magic moment,

the unprecedented second when they flicker off

and the heroic morning will break through.

Until then I will lie here,

shivering inside my bones.

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