A rope does not know its strands until it unravels.
Crazy unfurls as a cable overwhelmed by tension.
Braids to maintain are woven as need arises, and are not prepared.
My sanity is an anchor renewed,
while my instability is the eroding product of a millennium of crashing tides.
What knots do I need to know to endure the waves ahead?
I fear I will never be a fisherman.