the rope

a large, manila rope
spins and unfolds and 
falls from the ceiling
like soft serve
onto your shoulders
endlessly
coiling into a spiral
piling up,
pushing you down,
and burying you.

every day 
it takes 
more strength to stand
upright
to fight the rope
to stand 
up straight
to look people in the eye
and walk with purpose
and carry the rope

but the rope keeps falling.

if you drop it,
more follows,
and it just keeps coming,
and if you trip over it,
it will block you in
so you have to try and carry it
and balance it
and pretend it’s not piling up,
all around you.

but the rope keeps falling.

you have to believe
that the rope
won’t crush you
you have to believe that it
won’t stop you
you have to believe that it won’t
be the last thing
you ever see
because the second you
stop and doubt yourself
or think about all that rope
that just keeps
falling 
and twirling
and spiraling down,
endlessly on top of you,
from that undying spool,
the second you stop to think about it,
the second you stop to look at it,
to consider it, to accept it,
is the second
that rope
becomes
real.