A biased skirt on straight hips That walk a narrow line Steps on every crack in the sidewalk To try to break up the pattern That was sewn Stitch by stitch The apron sewn to the couch The leash that lets you know The hour of your humiliation And the depth of your despair And I wonder as I sit and Stare, if a satellite in its Boring orbit Feels more free than I For it will eventually Decay in its orbit While I hold off the Madness that gathers Around me like A growing ring of accusers And I know that I would Rather die than to Crawl back and re-sew My leash.
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