Patterns placated down the light material
The baby blue beckons me near
The dress taunts
Eyeing precariously at my shaken core
A piece of clothing, yet a death wish
Beauty wasn't mine to have
Any chance to at least grasp her
I fall to the floor ridden with tears
Too good to be true
Wishful thoughts
Tainted images
I can not ever be
The beauty I hope to see
YOU ARE READING
The Dress
PoesiaOne piece of clothing and a mental battle that raises the question: Am I beautiful?
