Threads of Confusion

Sitting on cold metal, machines hum their tune,

while my socks whirl and spin, like thoughts under moon.

Mismatched and forgotten, they tumble around,

a reflection of life, its chaos profound.

There’s something in cycles, in suds that collide,

a pull of nostalgia, where past fears can hide.

Faded fabric and lint, all stories entangled,

a moment of stillness, where time feels handled.

With each turn of the dial, I unravel the thread,

of moments now jumbled, of paths that I’ve tread.

Yet in this small space, my mind starts to clear,

a washing away all the worries and fear.