Clean

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Lather
Rinse
Repeat
Scrub
Until bones
Are revealed
Shed
What the skin
Concealed
You will be clean
Replenished
Brand new
Fresh blood
Already
Keep on scrubbing
Just look at you
A squeaky clean corpse
Doesn’t it feel freeing
To be so clean like me
He held the mirror up
So I could see
Sobs shook me
Diminishment
Never looked so ugly
I bathed in sin
That night
Grew tougher skin
He shrank back
Inside himself
With fright
He froze to ice
But having skin
Kept me warm within
I love the way I look
In sin
He watches
Immobile
Perfection is frigid
Like him





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SpringRayyn said...
Dec. 26, 2010 at 9:48 pm
This poem really intrigues me. Those are my favorite types of poetry.
 
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