Knit the thread of passion, in and out through my emptiness. As long as it passes through, I'll hold on to my garment of goals and be worthy enough to button up my dreams. Once you unthread me, I'd lose my sole purpose.
The button on her skirt has felt many hands. Hands which disrobed her of all her shame. Her life has turned into a 'come eat me' game. Yet all and sundry have only her to blame.