Stitches

A needle and thread will always mend

But does it fix the broken, my friend?

Tiny pricks into flesh will bleed

Yet, the string yanks to concede

Sowing into tainted muscle

Sings a song of lasts night tussle

Pick, poke, prod

Is this the day I depart, God?

Admire the stitches etched into skin

Brings back the cycle to begin

Eyes so tired of this life

Hopeless slices with a knife

Deja vu, is a clever thing

It lets words of the past to sing

Again, again, again

Fearing the now and not the when