No matter how many times
I scrub at it,
the stain in the mirror
(my precious, beautiful face)
won't go running down the sink.
I keep trying to soak out
the memory of
how you called me for my
crimes.
Flying high.
Hot water
(hot tears)
can't fill my ears quite
fast enough to make
your words stop drip
drip
dropping down my
throat.
The water always spirals away
but you're still clinging to
the dingy surface.
Drag it away.














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