Rolled into a ball of thread,

Each string wound and knotted into my spotted mind,

Thread marking another twisted moment in time.

A child is here in this closet, in this ball right now

A child of six and ten and nine

A child I am, a child I never will be,

Frozen in memories unwilling.

Help me escape this relentless mind full of yarn,

Teach me the trick to unraveling a lifetime of knots.

Open me up and cut them out,

Leave my skull hollow and free of this adult bred in doubt.

Rip at my hair as if that would press pause on the scenes,

Linger behind my eyelids, strong, lit by kerosene.

I want no more yet they come. A chainsaw perhaps would work

Cut at the past, mutilate, destroy what should have been stopped

Behind my eyelids, all alone, darkness engulfing a child

Where is God then?

…and the knots draw ever tighter…

Because I can’t lean in and offer a seed of comfort

Child of six and ten and nine is left alone to suffer

Horrible the pain in my heavy chest

Crushing, it leaves me curled up fixated on this ball of thread

Knotted I am, a mess unable to be undone

The damage is irreversible; severing is the option to be won.