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Thread
A spool of thread, brown and utterly cryptic,
Your eyes unravel in strands of silk,
Stitching me together with binding fibers,
And the piercing needle of the words you speak.
You’ve tried to revoke your secrets,
Only to protect me from your crippling pain—
Rip the permanent stitches that you’ve sewn in me,
Wind them back around the wooden spool.
Don’t take away my structure,
The only thing that holds me together—
Knowing that your heart aches from torn seams,
Is precisely what helps me decode you.
A spool of thread, becoming the royalist of its kind,
The swirls that caramelize your attentive gaze—
Your assurance not to leave me here, in this place,
Alone, as a scattered mess of tarnished pieces.

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