Tattered Cloth
Holding on never want to let go but this strand keeps unraveling and the patch work is starting to show. What was once a magnificent quilt worn by royalty is nothing more than a mere rag. Tattered and torn like feeling of a broken woman's scorn. Taking back to places that time has forgotten. An urgency to escape from something that is rotten. Covering the nose with that tattered rag and that brings back a scent. Slowly climbing back up from that selfish decent. Patch and sew the pieces back together. Its magnificence has now been restored. Draping once again over the shoulders of that royalty where it has always belonged.
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