The thin glistening needle threads
back and forth,
back and forth.
As the black thread slowly tangles in a knot

It twists and turns through each circle,
creating a lump in the center,
stoping the artist in their track,
forcing them to ponder on the black thread.

Should they continue?
Or should they stop,
cut the string and restart,
unwind new thread,
And strain their eyes again?

Even when I unravel,
hope still hangs on by a
t
  h
      r
          e
              a
                   d

Time has fed a burning fire with dying embers.
A dwindling light in the winter wind, flickering
As the night sought to put it out but could not,
Resisted death and not once lost its light.

Still I pitied it. A candle hanging by a thread,
Waging quarrels with the wind, found no solace
In my cupped hands. The cold and bitter tears
Of these winter nights pelted its withering spirit.

your calloused hands are softer than any i’ve ever held. sometimes i think about how when you hold mine it feels like they’re stitched together because it’s so difficult to pull them away when i have to leave.
it’s sweet thinking about how maybe every hole life has poked in us may just be where the thread needed to go through in order to have pulled us here today.

Fate is a thread,
the breadcrumbs that never fades.
Sometimes, it's best to relaxed,
let that thread guides you.
Only fate knows where the thread ends,
you are simply a visitor guided by its invitation.

Tethered upon my shoulders,
          loose threads keeping me

from being decapitated

             from
             mundane consequences.

But,

What would happen If
            I'd  held my breath letting all the
air out.

deflated meanings of life,

                                               freedom..

Strung together
Like a patchwork quilt,
Bound by a thin thread.
On top of this, a world was built.
But the thread, hued blood red
Was not strong enough
To survive the scissors
In which this girl
Had brought to my world.