she’s in fashion

she’s in fashion

that dress looks good on her

its a futile attempt, when, she keep spinning that embroidered veil of truth

but her heart will reveal its direction, even when dizzy, even when drunk in misery.

so pure and sweet,

she’s in fashion 

she now collapsed, 

her now stained, poached dress. 

her heart ran over by the train of thought and paranoid fear.

who am i to fear?