Stitching a Soul

How do you stitch a shattered soul mirrored in cracked reflections? Friends arrive too late, armed with needles, once the bleeding has stilled, sewing memories into a cloth of loss— stitched of sorrow, wearing grief's heavy gold, as if it were a crown above the stillness of the dead— enthroned in hollow solitude. Thoughts twist like barbed wire, fences no soul dares to breach; pull too hard, and silence unravels, screaming into the void, a cacophony of isolation dances in shadows. Death tugs at these frayed seams, slowly unspooling me— thread by thread, each strand a whisper of what once was, every knot a reminder of the horror nestled within.