My ribcage is merely
a pair of hands
holding it all in;
a protection of the heart
And the time has come
to pry those bony fingers loose
Let my heart
drift into the ethos
to free its restricted beat
and controlled perimeters
Yet I am terrified
My grip is detrimentally tight
It would take a crowbar and a boning knife
to release those paranoid claws
Scalpel, please.