The inner stitching's of my being have begun to unravel themselves.
Each thread held a piece of me that I swore never to release,
For it has brought nothing but evil and disgust to the ones that care for me.
I sowed them with a string so strong and a needle so sharp
That no wear nor test of time could break its hold.
But alas, my fingers must not be as still as they once were
For I find myself twitching at every mere brush of my hand against them.
One by one,
I pull at the stitching's of my dumbfounded self.
The master work I previously preformed has been undone by its
"master" worker.
The irony of the situation astounds me.
How I can and have wronged so many so harshly in such short an amount of time,
Yes, I once sowed these stitching's so tightly
That the devil could not sliver
his was past them.
But I was far to concerned with outside interference to open my eyes and see
That the most devious and most threating obstacle I had to face,
Stared me down in the mirror each and every morning.