Pffft??

120/0029

Swimming in my hoodies is my favourite pass time.
Allowing my arms to backstroke through the sleeves as my wrists dance along synchronously,
All the while my hood curls about my shoulders such as a slumped line,
Clinging onto something less than sublime.

My hoodie strings are a rope that knots my face shut,
And prying the fabric away from my cheekbones is snapping a chain with one's bare hands.
No crowbar, or bolt cutters, but all calyces upon strewn out palms or craters topped with gut.
Frayed strands mistaken for my hair bundle and clump in my throat and begin to rut.

I'm pushing downwards
slicing open my heart to anything at all.
I'm ready for the free fall.