somehow
you got tangled up
a line
disoriented
askew
looped around
itself
you let someone
pull some strings
you even tugged at a few
now
your tangle
is all tied up
knots
pulled tight
throughout
and you will likely
never know
for sure
who's hands
are most at fault
a mess of threads
stuffed inside
your heart
out of sight
but never
out of mind
distracted
guarded
and
a bit ashamed
afraid you've
just about
run out of time
your hands
your perfect hands
tracing strands
and picking
at knots
trying to undo
the damage
racing against
a silent
clock
but that thread
that perfect thread
bunched
tied
knotted
and disheveled
shines bright as day
in the most pleasant hue
its color all that ever
mattered
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