By: Blanca Hitchcock, Staff Writer
This beast is all consuming. It waits until I have shrugged off my clothes, brushing off the cold air and ice that has stuck to my dry skin.
It waits in secret, letting me toss my shoes into their stale dusty pile.
It waits patiently, while I scribble mindless notes on the cracked yellowing pages of my secondhand books.
It waits while I furiously scrub off my insecurities in the scalding gray water that flows from the rusted showerhead.
It waits less patiently now, while I paint my face with numerous creams and sticky gels.
It waits out in the open, as I slowly climb under my linted bedsheets.
It waits until I see the black from the inside of my eyelids, and then the beast climbs on top of me.
It’s boney claws scratch at my legs and arms, drawing blood on my neck.
It creeps into my mind, consuming my matter.
It inhabits my throat, swallowing the air meant for my lungs.
It expands in the chamber of my heart, pulsating, throbbing, tearing.
Finally, I swipe at the tears flowing down my patchy cheeks.
Another night this beast has won. I will die tonight and be alive again when morning comes.
Goodnight beast, I might miss you when I wake.
