The tailor

The tailor:
Friends;
Fickle though they may be;
Weave themselves thoroughly 
And effortlessly
Into the fabric 
That is your life
With
Or without 
Your consent. 
Sometimes
Our collection of
Threads starts to tangle,
Some 
Slowly breaking away
From our fragile cloth,
Eventually causing our entire
Piece of fabric 
To unravel,
Leaving us hollow 
And hopeless,
Having no clue 
What caused your collection
To develop so many
Holes. 
Other times,
Our threads are so eager 
To escape from this binding cloth 
That they leave
So abruptly 
That we are only left with
Shreds
And scraps 
Of what was once 
A soft textile. 
In these desperate times,
A tailor 
Would be useful. 
However,
These craftsmen are hard to come by
An one you stumble upon one
They can attempt
To mend you;
Your poor broken soul;
But in the process
They inevitably stitch themselves 
Closer
And tighter 
Into your pattern
Until you have no idea
Who you are
Without them. 
And like any other 
Entity,
They have the power 
To destroy you;
Leaving you more damaged
Than you were 
When they first found you; 
Whether or not
They intend to. 
It all depends
On how much 
They charge you
For their services.