Breathe, Demons

You’re like a paper mannequin
fragiley bound in twine
one little push
is all it would take
and you’re smashed against the tiles.
Bluebirds fly between your ribs
brushing your glass slivers
with their marble wings -
threatening to shatter you.
Your chest feels on fire
but your lungs are barely warm
your body feels like a soil field
your head a grave and worms.
Every person you bump against
is a landmine waiting to blow
their plaster skin
and nuclear hearts
just waiting to explode.
You built your walls high and thick
to keep your demons out
unfortunately your monsters are
friends you can’t live without.
So you tuck them in
and wrap them up
to breathe them in your skin
because those smoky lungs
and ashen bones
have finally grown -
too thin.