There is a gargoyle living in my gut. His gruesome stone snarl scraping against my colon. The heartburn never ends.
He must have moved in as a pebble, a tiny worry about what could be, and every minute since that shitty November day he’s
Grown more abrasive, more corrosive, taking up too many centimeters of my being. He spits acid from a contorted tongue,
Searing the lining of my duodenum, creating blisters that won’t soon heal. Resistance hurts, but acquiescence kills.