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