Sunday, December 21, 2008

Untitled

A bar of soap.
Orange, rectangular, scented.
Crafted by chemistry; molded by man.
Promising purity, but lying in depth.
The classical repeat of supply and demand.

Lives of loss,
And a bar of soap.

Scrub with a vigorous hand,
But biased blood must be bled.

I await a transfusion,
But it's all so fucking tainted.

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