Oh the seams are ripping at my sides

I should probably hurry and decide

how exactly I'm going to deal with this.

 

I've never been one to sew

I look away and hope that they rip slow

never too fast, but simply in a calm flow.

 

The voices sometimes get too loud

I don't know the number, but it sure is a crowd.

The longer they speak, the faster they wrap me in the shroud.

 

Sometimes I accidentally look down

and notice myself coming unbound.

I then begin to panic 

at the sight of my insides spilling out.

 

I seem to have forgotten how much time

has passed by since this crime has been committed.

 

One voice speaks out asking when will someone fix me?

Who will sew me back together and get rid of this debris?

 

Another screams out furiously rejecting that anyone will.

Everyone I've depended on to do so, only stayed for the thrill,

then abandoned me as soon as I revealed how I too, was coming unbound.

 

Before long another voice speaks up saying that to depend on another

is to set my seams up for a violent ripping.

 

My Mother never taught me well on how the world works.

She only taught me how it should work, and that I should expect no less.

 

It didn't become clear until I was older, that she too was ripping at her seams.

This world is so vulgar, the voices never stop with their screams.

 

The ripping never stops tearing the seams,  My sanity never will touch sanctity.