Tangled Black

A button fell, a tiny loss,

so I dug out the mending kit, all moss

and dust. The spool of thread, so small,

a dark black coil, about to fall

apart. Or rather, already done.

A bird's nest knot, a battle won

by chaos. Every single strand,

a mess I couldn't understand.

I poked, I pulled, I swore, I cursed.

This simple task, the very worst.

A tiny universe of woes,

in miniature, where nothing flows.

My fingers, clumsy, tired, slow,

could only make the tangle grow.

A single stitch, I couldn't see.

The spool just mocked me, silently.