snagged on your nail,
that sweater fell over your angles like
a reassuring comfort moulded to your form.
There it lay,
twisted at the back of your drawer,
ready to cosset you,
do your will.
But forced to see
by the pinch of the thread;
to become aware;
the holes materialised,
here and there.
You could have mended
those unraveling gashes.
But were you tired, unhappy,
with its uncompromising yarn;
its unwillingness to fit your changing self?
And as the fibre sliced into flesh,
numbing feeling,
you pulled and pulled,
until the fabric of your life,
slowly became unwoven.
copyright, 2007. Verilion
Labels: painful recollections, poem
This was awesome. I am very surprised you don't have comments. Glad to be the first. I will be sure to link you up. This poem really told a story. I like the theme of things not fitting because people change. The last stanza is my favorite but I also really like the whole poem to be honest. I am going to have to read more now.