Wash and rinse.
Repeat, repeat, repeat...
I can't seem to get rid of this filthy guilt.
The master of disguise carries bags of dirt.
Their earthy, primal scent entices,
and sends me to recall-
the times when I seemed to have a childish need-
to dig holes for myself.
Here I will hide from virtue.
Some how, I found comfort in my earthen hut.
Among the muddy walls and emotional mire,
the dusty flow of air that follows in-
fills my lungs.
You have always taken my breath away.
It can't be that healthy.
As I bask in your presence,
I imagine the hypocrisy as beautiful gray snow.
Earth smeared face.
This dulling film covering my body....
My favorite outfit to wear is a shroud you created from
granule sweepings.
The debris you shook out onto me...
You run my muck.
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