Altar to the Clean

I see the spiders before you do

For they are my brethren

My small, ugly countrymen who scurry in the dark

 

Just like the insects

The flies

The bacteria, contaminating nothing but my mind

I think it’s on everything

 

Cracks

River bed veins

Petrol, oatmeal, vitamin E

Boils of pus, infected

Look how clean I am

 

The sink

The tub

My altars to the clean

Where I scrub the day’s success away

Mere failure lies beneath

Maybe it’s just…ME who is filthy

 

Wash my self off myself

 

Gaze into my mind

Don’t worry, this abyss is too drunk to stare back

Inebriated, toxic

Like how I relate with all my loves

 

Psychotic–how I’m to be

Always at the floor on bended knee

I should love my Master

Rather, I grovel at His feet

 

I’ve washed my fingers

I’ve washed and I’ve prayed seven times today

Hoping my loves will perish not

Lecherous crisis – come see what I’ve wrought

 

Scar tissue, with bruises

Marks on a shattered mirror

It was a smudge to begin with

Smeared with the weakness of weakness

 

So soft…

 

Perhaps another pill will help

A capsule, sublingual

Washed down with inverted ambrosia

 

Oh, no

 

You’ve hurt your loves again

 

Cease! No more talking to yourself

Talk to the Answer instead

I’ve cast this shadow all on my own

Please, lift away the darkness

 

Yellow star at dawn

Brighter…

 

Brighter