The October Diaries XXVIII | Strings

October 28,

Strings are tying together

Some frayed, others tangled

Dried blood marks their seams

Still they tighten, loose ends bereaved

Centermost, their creator

Neither conscious nor oblivious

Neither master nor apprentice

Fingers caught between seams

Closed eyes, all touch, no reason

Sitting still, weaves spinning

As strings knot his heart with ease

A seeming fragile web, growing

Lifts his weight so subtly

Now suspends a mesh of dreams

Ribs and skin shed, he breathes

And so all crimson strings beat

A veinous mechanism of volatility

Shakes and twitches from its centerpiece

Risen and unburdened

Tangled yet contented

Closed eyes, working hands

A steady frenzy for fruition

Entwining efforts twisting

Deeper and deeper--

towards oblivion