My heart is like an old knit sweater,
with a loose thread.
I pull at the the thread to try to make it better,
but it unravels more the harder I try.
And so I dread,
I can't make it better.
The more that I try,
the more it falls apart.
I can't fix something if I dont know how.
I begin to cry,
because It's all in pieces; now
in it's place lies a hole.
And I cannot console
my poor broken heart.
