Seamstress Of Souls

I weep inside this ragged frame,
The howling of my soul screams,
For these scars make gaping holes,
In my hollow shell of a living body,
Winds of hate and love blow through,
Ripping and tearing, enlarging them.

No one will ever hear my cries,
They are lost in the empty space,
Of my lost and broken soul,
Only I can hear my dying echoes,
For I am trapped inside this shell,
Hoping to find the easy way out.

Somehow all the pain gets louder,
And I seem to reach on person,
Who looks at me and weeps,
Seeing the pile of rags I've become,
Yet she still sees me as a human,
Not some hideous distorted ghost.

Bringing her needle of love to me,
Threading her yarn of life,
I watched as she picked up the rags,
Gently mending the gaping holes,
Sealing them with her salty tears,
Sterilizing them with heated kisses.

I seem to be trapped inside again,
But now I am not alone to stand,
Against the winds of love and hate,
For I have discovered the one,
Who I wish to be my rock, my Savior,
The seamstress of the broken world.