Piechosis

It’s 2:13
AM
Strand. It’s on the
end of my sweater
IpickatitIpickatitIpickatit
It’s unraveling steadfast
Faster and faster and faster
It’s coming undone ohno
but i’ve come too far now
I keep pickingandpickingand
It resembles a pencil
youknowifthepencilwererippedto shreds
I feel colder and colder
as I keep pickingatit
but I can’t stop picking
why do i keep going
I think as I keep picking
I get frigid and now I have
a ball of yarn and no
sweater but I was promised
pie.

For my efforts, maybe?
surethatsoundsright
sowhywastherenopie?
there is no pie, the pie was a lie
a lie I lied to myself that
kind of lie, a lie of pie

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