I don't know if you realize
but you're tearing yourself apart
from a tapestry you wove once.
It was a sunset you gazed upon, whenever times were sorrow
But you did this yourself.
How many threads have you disconnected?
You aren't helping yourself in any way.
But I'm not either.
So I begin to question wether I will feel the scissors too.
Or some rusty blade you left on the counter next to an unfinished beer,
Since you got drunk off of memories instead.
I am not a healer, an aspiration I suppose.
When you speak,
I feel the delicacy of a white rose.
