Frayed

Pulling at the threads
of the tapestry of me
all those loose ends
frayed
and worn.
Pick, pluck
sigh, release
move on, return again. 
Always weighing on
the corners of my mind
dragging them down
to wrap around
the sharp edges I do find
and more things
of the same kind. 
Of the same ilk.
Misaligned
and at wit's end
I do fend
for a few scraps
of my sanity.
Sacrifice
the plot device
and my vanity.
All for the sake 
of the same mistake
I do make
over and over again.
All I ask
you, in the mask
is, When?