life is not a beach, but it certainly isn't a rope swing, either.

death grip,
find release.
unentangle myself
from
the
knots
i twist
yeah,
the ones
that barely
exist
it is sheer imagination
and poetic
breathlessness
that bind
the ties
i can't
realize

pry each
finger
off the rope
with all
my
might
till they all

let go

and the blood comes back into
each
finger
which hurts,
but that'll go away.
i try
to
remember that.

(this is my last resort
and it's not a warm, beautiful place
that's for sure)

let go..

NOW...

(a rope swings in the wind

back
and
forth

no one sees it
but me)