Pins and Needles

Pins and needles.
Prick and poke me
I am a cushion
Of the full of holes kind
Useful, but disposable.

I lost control of one thing
And regained something instead
A recollection of a memory
That I long thought was dead.

I blurred the lines
And lost the focus
The smell of this ink,
Keeping me totalled.

As the stranger sits and waits
Knowing one day he'll find me.
I sit silently, hiding
Right out here, in the open air.

I grasp my stick
And ready my inspiration
I'm taking this as far
As it needs to be taken.

If I leave it here, you'll be fine
You'll figure out how to blur the lines.
You don't need me waiting in the wings
Sitting here silently.
Waiting for your pins.
And needles, drops of blood
I'll watch as my hands
Drop your heart with a thud.