Needle Pull.

You start pulling at the threads to unravel yourself.

No one knew what was under those black ribbons,

A soft white, a baby pink, a world to explore still.

I cannot catch a glimpse of your smile in the mirror,

I keep finding the blankets woven into a mess of string.

My bones are painted on the walls and dripping bare.

Summer starts to feel a little too heated,

A contact to your skin for just a moment.

It starts to unwind even more, and you're losing it.

Author's Note

05.28.2014