Knitted up my crippled heart

With every thread of hope

Like a thief in the night

To be robbed of a soul.

 

The love I weave has no flaw,

but in the fabric of my heart, 

a growing hole, 

the threads are loose, 

yet nowhere to go.

 

The bitter echoes of your name 

Filling up the sky like air

From the morning birds’ first song 

to the moon’s last teardrop,

screams of madness

and cries of anguish

tear my heart like pointed spears.

​

My pillow,

a river of tears, dripping cold

Flames of anger whisking up my soul.

To pick up the scraps of thread that remain

scarcely enough to dress

the mouth of a pinhole.

​