The Stitcher’s Lullaby

The Stitcher’s Lullaby

Thread the needle through my veins,
Patchwork heart that feels no pains,
Button eyes that see too far,
Sewn together by the evening star.

In the attic where dolls decay,
Limbs mismatched in disarray,
Scraps of souls and cloth collide,
Whispered secrets where shadows bide.

Hush now, child, don’t you cry,
The Stitcher’s here to lullaby,
Patch your heart and mend your mind,
With crooked seams and twine entwined.

Ragged laughter through the seams,
Stuffed with nightmares stitched from dreams,
Hands of burlap claw the air,
Searching for what isn't there.

Voices tangled in thread and lace,
Lost to time and out of place,
Cursed to dance on marionette strings,
While the Stitcher hums and softly sings.

Take my heart and sew it tight,
Stuff it full of endless night,
Patch the screams into my bones,
Till I’m nothing but hollow tones.

Hush now, child, don’t you cry,
The Stitcher’s here to lullaby,
Patch your soul with tattered fate,
And never leave the attic gate.

When dawn breaks and threads unwind,
Dollhouse dreams are left behind,
But in the shadows where horrors creep,
The Stitcher sings your soul to sleep.