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Rated: E · Poetry · Experience · #700116
my mind spins the thread (work in progress)
My mind whirs
the grating monotony
of a spinning wheel.
My cramping fingers clutch
at the most miniscule of threads-
the tiniest details on which
I dwell-
feeding them over, and over, and over
into the whirring
until they are compacted into
steely wires that twist
and bend to barbs
which then settle in my stomach.
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