I Write Poetry

Too many strings,
I sew,
Attached to me,
Like the threads Of a coat,

This coat I wear,
That makes me cold,
And each thread tightens,
Around me, hold,

And that string,
And this string,
I can't get loose,
And the string from you,
Will be the same,
This string from you,
Becomes a chain,
Only God's scissors,
Can free me again.