patchwork

the threads unravel
and pull away, slowly.
years of working with needles
and nothing to show
but permanent stains
on half-sewn sheets.

there's a closet full
of failed attempts;
of loose-fitting jeans
with holes in the knees
and skin-tight sweaters
hung out of my reach.

i rest under layers
of dirty clothes,
coming apart
at the seams.