It’s impossibly ugly this sweater,

But I wear it each week,

No matter the weather.

I once wore the beauty of clothes,

That suit me so fine,

Pretty as a rose.

But those who I trusted grew close,

The light in the dark,

The ones I loved most.

And they tore down all who was me,

I was left to hurt,

Ash and debris.

Thus the sweater hides myself,

Protecting my heart,

Everything I felt.

So I’ll push and I’ll push away,

Cover my beauty,

Run and decay.

Now nobody can hurt what I am,

I am desolately safe,

I am mournfully damned.