Stress

The stress clenches my chest
A clawed hand deep inside me
Gripping my heart
Squeezing and holding and not letting go
The gin bottle winks at me cheekily
But I know that it has a knobbly club in its back pocket
I breathe in and out slowly
I carefully write these words down
I put on my reading glasses and ease myself into a deep book
The hand unclenches a little
Sleep might come but so might the black dogs
At the end of the bed in the darkest hours of the morning
And so I turn this wheel
A spoke at a time
Spoke by spoke towards my destiny