Poet\'s Dream

An unwashed rag

I\'m starting to fade

Like an overwashed rag

The colors seeping from my pores

My skin will sag 

Frayed at the edges, my fingers and toes

A single string, I begin to pull

Slowly until my hand is gone

Then my shoulder, chest, legs

Until I\'m nothing but a pile of string on the floor

I used to be useful but not anymore