Just the prick of a needle,
A pain so fleeting,
The oozing blood scarlet,
And the thread all unspooled,
Just for the briefest of moments
I mourned you.
Or perhaps the memory of you,
Forgive me if I can’t recall–
It must have been a blessing in disguise
That you never saw me fall,
Never saw me nurse my wounds
As I sewed my pieces back,
After all, we were only held by a thread,
It’s no wonder that we snapped.
Our patches frayed,
Mended one too many times
With promises of better tomorrows
And other such beautiful lies,
But we ripped apart at the seams,
No thread in the world strong enough
To hold us together in this storm,
So bent on tearing us apart,
Every part we knit together
Now lies strewn across the floor,
Its pitiful state,
What a waste!
Nothing could put us back,
Not the way we once were,
Everything after that first tear was a lie–
So why are we hanging by a thread to try?
So seamlessly sewn,
Our stitches invisible
Like all that we didn’t see coming,
That was when we saw fates turning,
Torn to shreds we couldn’t mend–
We watched as we hung on by a thread,
How it all came to a tragic end.
~© Shubhangi Srinivasan.
It’s ridiculous how the inspiration for this poem came to me in the form of a literal pin-prick as I sewed something back together. It made me think about how I could write something angsty out of the whole thing if I tried enough, and I ended up doing exactly that. I hope you like reading this poem!
The Shubhster. Xx
Featured Image by Marianne Krohn on Unsplash
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