The Box

No day out for fitting
You only asked for my size,
I’m maid of honour but I don’t know the colour.
When the box arrives

I hope it’s a disguise
and you spring out with your arms held up
In a fooled-you-love surprise.

You’ll smile and say we’ll be together,
But I hold the box and it’s light as feather,
And it weighs me down as I cry.
And it weighs me down as I cry.

I tell the postman that it’s just hay fever
As he waves goodbye.
As he waves goodbye.

Place it upon the bed,
Wish you lay down there instead.
Lift the lid of the box and the fabric unlocks,
All the horrors in my head.

The colours match my bedsheets,
Tainted, painted bloody red.

I imagine your body, dancing within it,
Taunting me haunting me skin held out
and I want to crawl in.

So I reach out and I touch it
And it burns like flames.
It’s poison-laced but I’m maid of honour
so I can’t complain.

This isn’t just an allergy this dress will be the death of me
And the knives you bundled in resemble shoes,
I try them on and I’m a bruise.

I look up at the save the date,
And pray to God that  I’ve put on weight,
But it fits me like a dream,
I slip it on and scream.
 

Colours?!

Random colour palette via the Colourlovers API. This one's called Crepuscolo Hong Kong and is by UPtimist

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