Clean

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Clean

It's a mess. This space right here.
This clutter that brings ill thoughts near
So many people, passing through with no regard
Funny how we let it build up this large

So: breathe, inhale, crack knuckles and neck
It's time to exhale and step into the vortex
Pull out the towels and dish out the soap
A good scrub, and the thoughts will stop. nope.

Desperate to change what is to what was
Reverse the clock, find the cause?
Was there any surprise that it would be like this?
That given an ounce of hope that it'd go all amiss?

Wipe the dirt off from the floor
The hopes were up: expected more
Should have stayed low and gazed to the ground
Eyes to the sky, Icarus's foil found

Hours alone just cleaning to think
Memory's chains: where's the weak link?
Take a foot out of the past
Is anything still in my grasp?

A few days more and I might again find
An hour or two of moving peace of mind
dancing in and out of lust for you
What's the point if I'm never true

The room is clean. But I am not.
Taken the dirt in, sickness caught.
Blackened with soot, my own pollution
Was I really looking for a solution?

Nothing more to scrub except myself
Look around, isn't there anything else?
Watch in reflection as the dirt drifts away
But when it's done, what thoughts have stayed?

Last updated: 2016-10-30

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