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