My wrists are limp.
Pearlescent and painful,
Imprints of rope have been
Tattooed into my skin.

I’m not one to let go.
Frantic and hopeless,
I’m a clinger.

To be seen and heard,
It’s what I deserve.

But I don’t notice.
I don’t believe I’m seen.
I don’t believe I’m heard.

So I hold on,
Hoping.
That all while I saw at the rope,
You will mend it back together.

But you’re tired,
I can see that.
I’ve seen it for a while.

I wanted to stop sawing.
I needed to let go.
I’m sorry.

Now,
You’ve cut the rope fully.
I can finally fall,
Free.