it hooks in sharp between my ribs
and twists.
crushing my ribs against the
Bang. Bang. Bang.
of my heart it,

leaves no room for air

it’s the sort of feeling that needs drowning
in whisky and gin and
oblivion

but I’m being good.

I have my fingers in my ears and
I’m humming tunelessly
as it grips me by the back of my neck
like a cat grips a kitten
limp and powerless,
hanging
jaw clenched in impotent fury
as
it
fills
up my
skin.

we scream in harmony
silent