it sleeps like a tide inside the throat,
waiting for dawn or light to pull it from its trenches--
a hibernating creature, fattening on what sleep
and nutrients are provided, threatening
to pull from their home the last salvages of health.
with dirty, crusted claws it wrenches open sleeping sores,
leaves furrows where flesh was whole
and makes its own mocking mark in the recesses of the body.
the stitches begin to tear,
sutures being no match for what has been done here:
what has been ripped away is gone, and the finality of it
leaves no breath to ease the wound.