There’s a little monster in my chest.
(No, he’s not my heart; he’s underneath my rib cage. He might nibble on spleen, I wouldn’t know.)
Sometimes I don’t notice him.
On Sunday I got bad news, and I felt him jump.
One could draw parallels between his movements and the stomach butterflies that we all get, but his fists are no wispy wings.
I worry that if ever he were to ever dig a tunnel through my stomach lining, he’d come across one of those fluttering insects.
What do you call an introduction where one party munches on the other?
My little monster has no manners.
I’ve become suspicious that he’s cancerous.
(This is the type of thing that students learn in Biology these days)
He doesn’t grow much except to puff out his chest, but if the definition of malignant means he’s moving around my body through the circulatory system (yes, this is the definition), then he’s surely metastatic (oh, I know he is).
It’s true that when he moves it’s never down my legs or arms. He could be smart that way.
But then again, that wouldn’t exactly qualify as spreading, would it?
Perhaps he has a mind of his own. Just like me.