Clean
There’s a million ways to soil your soul in the darkness. Let me say again: there’s a million ways to soil your soul in the darkness. A place of invisible envisioned fecal fairy dust covering the sweat covered skin like brown glitter on construction paper dripping with glue.
I wish you knew how I was covered in you. Dipped and drizzled in excessive amounts of you. Filth is not the word that describes my bathroom floor when I think of you. Filth is the bread and wine I swallow on my knees to rid myself of you.
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How can I feel frigid and dry under comforter blankets without you yet lie as melted wax on soaked sheets next to you? I feel alone either way.
Skin can touch forever but our hearts never could connect with all these layers and barriers between us. Walls of flesh and blood and bacteria blocks our pumping pulses to beat beautifully in harmony. No, I’m instead submerged in sludge you once called beautiful.
Does my Pubic hair scare you? Is it my piss stench that keeps you from licking my scars at night? You only want me after I’m baptized in your bleached covered tub and soaked pure to the bone. I scrub to be white like you. Rinsed clean like you but I could never be as clean as you. Everything I touch could never be clean. You could never be clean. Not where my hands and teeth and eyes and lips remembers you most.
There’s a million and one ways to soil your soul in the darkness. I cannot bare to see our filth splash against each other in light. Sometimes it’s just easier to close your eyes and imagine something clean.
