You pricked your finger again
but no blood escapes your skin.
You must catch the threads
before they begin unraveling.

The knots you’ve tied to your fingers
which you held so dearly for days
Turned into dewy spiderwebs
in a calm, moonlit night.

The smell of the reaper’s blade is back
and it’s searing your soul.
You pricked your finger once again
so that you will be forced to let go.

The pain made you remember that
sooner or later these strings would decay.
You’ll be left alone once again,
Making knots to cut and healing hands to prick.


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