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.