day 8: bell hent

you tickle me
​for so long
i worry that my soul has left my body through my ribs
and i kind of hover near the ceiling looking down
at you, tickling.
me, laughing.
me: laughing. not happy.

i hurdle over the barrier of meaning
of format
of rules
of custom
and to see what’s on the other side.

i reckon it’s nicer over there, anyway.