For years I thought it was a house, so I
bought some walls
                                       and a door
with a lock
and keys                  to weight my fist.
I was told it might be found
in numbers,
                            so I filled my house
with books, and chairs, and shoes,
then dogs,                     then children,
and I watched my terror grow
with every precious
                            tender
                                              bone.
Now, I begin
as I sit at the sturdy table,
swallowing my daily dose of panic,
Sleeping dogs,
                               lying at my feet,
the kids in their beds
dreaming beyond                  my reach
Their pillows deep
                                              deep

deep
as the dread I eat,
                                            to live.
Nowhere is safe
                                        but death
and fear
                                     is the bread

we must                    break, together.