Christopher Sullivan
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My Secret

A Poem

I have a little secret.

I keep it inside of me

Locked away in a box of flesh and sinew underneath my rib cage.

Sometimes the box rattles like a sack of dusty dry old bones.

Sometimes it is still and silent.

But I know the secret is still in there

Creeping around on the soft paws of a cat’s shadow

Thin, dark, and brooding it stalks me from inside that box

Sometimes it whispers to me

A sound like rage and pain and silence all caught up by the wind

A wind that rushes and stirs and dies behind my eardrums

Between the hammer and the anvil

In the spaces that exist just outside one’s reach but not one’s understanding

It hunts me there

From inside its container

In the dim murky moonlight of my mind I watch it stir and oscillate the flesh-made box

Sometimes when it begins to grumble and groan I have to ready myself

For a fight may start if it ever breaks loose

Then, in those times, I hold my steel firm in my hand

And on occasion, I am given cause to cut at it with my blade

Biting deep at the box edges with sharpened metal

In the most deliberate of cuts.

The box bleeds and oozes pain in thick globs of tactile anguish

And in those moments, bitter and cold

The secret quiets and lies down on its haunches

For it knows what I have done

And all it required was blood…

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