Deciever

She's a stiff starched dress
with buttons to your chin,
sleeves to your wrists -
always cutting in,
you wear her, appear to all
to be beautifully dressed,
but under scratchy fabric,
she rubs a rash a rash onto your chest.

She binds and chokes and holds you -
don't you tell a soul,
how misery and heartache
long to take control,
each button made of ice,
freezing spots of skin -

you can't escape her clutches, so you draw deeper in.