there was a part of me that wanted out of a situation
try and let go and by the skin of my hands i am hanging onto a rope that burns and cuts and grips my palms like fish hooks. twist around. try to break free. these thoughts are haunting each breath i breathe. each inhale sustains each pulse which throbs at no mercy for my shredded hands. the hands meant to give do just that and in giving get torn to pieces by offering stability to a wavering rope. it’s own hanging presence keeps me searching for a rigid release.
but you know, i couldn’t let go