Inked

my dress was made of papers,
crumpled and worn,
words and bits of melody;
fragment songs never sung.
but the more I wear my dreams,
the more I realize
that the skirts I hide behind
are woven of lies.

dipping myself in ink,
I try to escape the truth;
but the more I write it out
the more I seem to lose.

I can't seem to strip naked,
or let it all go;
my emotions run away with me
beyond my control.
I pause between my breathing
to tally up my sins;
and wonder if it's worth it
to once more breathe in.

dipping myself in ink,
I try to escape the truth;
but the more I write it out
the more I seem to lose.

I've long courted consequence
and reaped just what I sow.
I can't break the cycle;
as I spiral down
I'm cursed with what I know.

drowning myself in ink,
I fail to escape the truth;
that the more I write it out
the more I stand to lose.