I wake up and I wash.
I wash the dirt off my skin.
Hoping there is just a layer to peel off.
That maybe, a light scrub will make me clean.
But still every dawn, I’m messier than before.
Maybe I should scrub harder,
maybe I should scrub untill it hurts and there are rashes on my skin.
A scar to look upon, a scar to think,
that’ll maybe stop me from doing things I need to clean off.
Every morning, believing, through this I could wash off the sins, I wake up, I wash, I clean, untill sinned again.