“Threadbare”

When I knock

That holy sock-

pretend it isn’t there.

Then comes a time,

Without a thought,

that holy sock i wear.

Beside the jest,

Confusion rests,

for how I do discern.

Wash’d, dried and filed-

Mental Exile-

thus the article returns.

Not a Chance,

My evidence,

proves worthy when they say:

“At a glance,

the waste garments,

are telling of your ways”

So scorn the woes,

to closets closed,

while others stay aware.

Clung to regret-

you still neglect,

your wardrobe is threadbare.