Tearing at the seams,
of the string that keeps me wound.
Ripping at the stitches of the
patches I've created;
I am far too broken now to
become whole again.

It left me in a sudden,
and I should have started running,
but I settled in this place to call
my home.

But now I've lost my something,
and I wish that I was running,
but Im glued and sewn into my
solitude.

If I were alone, I'd be better,
but I'm torn and I'm sewn into
a sort of, community sweater,
where I cannot detach myself again.

Dreams fell as they were dying;
I swear I should have been crying,
but I was filled with a sadness
that I cannot re-create.

So, tearing at the seams,
that I though might keep me collected,
but I've realized lately that,
I'm never long connected.