The Shirt I Sewed

With every stitch, I came closer to the shirt I made. 
I made it just for you. 
With every edge I cover, 
I'm buried deeper and deeper in your artificial love. The kind of love you show when you'd think of 
my body, 
but not every part of it. 

Every part of my body had gone weak 
the moment I had finished sewing on the sleeves.
This is where your arms will slide through, and your hands will 
grab me by the neck and choke me lovingly. 

A stitch. 

And a stitch. You never loved me, and I had submerged 
into this euphoria 
I call your soul. 

So put on your new shirt, my love. Wear this and let 
me embrace 
every curve of your beautiful body. After all, I always run 
back to those who put on 
the deceiving mask. 

I thought you loved are cared for me, but I had been left 
with all the thread 
tangled around my fingers. Oh how the shirt 
had wrinkled. 

Take off that mask for me. Let me button up 
the shirt I sewed while your nails pierce my skin 
and your kiss silence my moaning screams. I will 
fix the collar for you, just like how you fucked me 
back to sanity - quite lovingly. 

So say those three words, I dare. But the moment you do, 
it would be 
too late. The threads would have become undone, 
and the shirt will no longer embrace your body 
like it had the moment I 
sewed it - just for you.