Picking up the razor shards of a shattered heart.
Gathering the jigsaw pieces to rebuild restart .
Patching the torn to shreds emotions , with the tattered ghosts of past loves.
Remake myself again of the odd collection of scraps, all left over after the last romantic misadventure.
Looking for a button , a zipper , some needle and thread to stop all the mismatched pieces spilling out once more.
Yet again I am the patchwork man, loosely sewn , ragged at the seams.
Yes I am the patchwork man , do you understand what that means.
Yes I am the patch work man , I am, will be , have been .