Filipendulous.

I was filipendulous.

Hanging by a thread.

Not an ample, sturdy thread.

Not a thread of strong rope.

A thin thread.

The kind used in sewing.

But I, unlike sewing thread, seemed to have no purpose.

I was not used to mend things.

I was not used to fix mistakes.

I couldn't simply fix an open laceration.

I couldn't bring something back to its former glory with only a few quick stitches.

I was more like the kind of thread that frays whenever it's tried to be used.

The kind of thread that frustrates its seamstress, because the second she tries to use it, it falls apart.

It slowly unravels, causing more and more trouble the longer you try to use it.

Much like a rope that's already been cut before being used, the thread unfurls.

I am a hanging by a singular strand of that unfurling thread.

Causing that singular strand to begin fraying.

-Brianna Cecille Blades