I saw the future in our hands,

tied up in string.

The knots came loose,

couldn’t recognize a thing.

I thought I knew which thread went where,

but I had no clue,

no thimbles to spare.

I wish I knew if you knew

where the thread had gone;

or did I imagine it?

Embroidered artwork

a madwoman’s mirage?

What do I do now,

with the tangled mess we made?

This art was made for you,

the string now worn and frayed.

You there, keep some pieces,

I don’t really mind.

They were always yours anyway,

too tangled in me, too intertwined.

I can’t make another mess,

I can’t remember how.

I can’t care for anyone,

I won’t kiss another mouth.