Ak Adam Poet Rhyme

The black string

There is a black string between you and me.
Every time you pluck, its a trigger for me.
Ever time I pluck, its a trauma for me.
Who decided to give this string its color?
Was it you or was it me or was it us?

Should either of us choose to dye this string.
Will it start to unravel?
Will it start to rot?
Will it start to stiffen?
Will it tighten into a knot?
Will it braid itself into a rope?

And when the Stranger trips on this rope.
Will they cut the hazard?
Will they bury it straight in the ground?
Will they burn it ashes to ashes?

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