This upholstery
my heart,
Padding my sleeves,
on display for you to see.

One look
over here,
You could have furnished,
before it was tarnished.

I worked
beyond notice,
mending and stitching,
hands never flinching.

The lines
and the patterns,
I deigned them such,
they waited for your touch.

The upholstery
now remains,
locked in the attic,
beyond you, fashion fanatic.