Come Undone

Photo by cottonbro studio

a loose thread nags
so I grab hold
⠀⠀pull it
hand over hand
⠀⠀pulling from the gut
unravel it
⠀⠀pulling myself apart

no origin
no recollection
⠀⠀of where this began

so I pull until it tugs
no longer gives
at the end of my barrel
⠀⠀unspooling
all that I am
all that I was
a pooling pile
⠀⠀come undone

in primary colors
of love
of hope
of new beginnings
⠀⠀their colors
⠀⠀bleeding into one
the color of white
to be dyed and spooled again

from my first witness
to my last kiss
my umbilical mess

so I gather myself up
in search of a seamstress
⠀⠀to re-spool the unwound

the seamstress knows
her way around the spool
as we digress
⠀⠀toward progress
turning it from white to red
the color of fresh blood

the thing about unspooling
and re-spooling, she says—
⠀⠀it gets a little looser
⠀⠀each time
⠀⠀no longer wound
⠀⠀as taut

you won’t remember a lot
but that’s alright
the seamstress is here
⠀⠀to help you recall
⠀⠀how you were spun
and remind you
⠀⠀it’s okay
⠀⠀to come undone

⠀⠀

⠀⠀

© Pixel Floyd, 2026

Note: I found myself feeling this way again, so I revisited and revised this poem, originally published in Black Coffee Creative on Medium.