running down the white
slippery walls
is the dirt and filth
that covered my skin. i wash the
weak away
ready to start a new
one tomorrow.
all the slime gets caught
in the standing lake pool
of frothy bubbles
scrambling at my feet
before being pounded
out with pellets of water
beads.
trying to find the right
spot to press up and feel
what might be a squeaky
clean crevice,
the one that you found
last week.
too late. washed down the
drain is all the bits and
particles
that remained.
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