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 .