Sometimes when I bathe,
I wish that the cold, running
water can seep right through,
And put out the ember
that sizzles for acceptance.

And when I look at
the foggy mirror right after,
An unexplained angst
overpowers myself,
Yet, it's unfathomed as to why.

And when the warm hug of
a towel envelops me,
Half my heart hopes
that it could dry the still running tears
of yesterday, too.

And when I put on a crisp
clean shirt,
Then lie on the bed,
I close my eyes, and say,
"It'll be if He says it is to be".

For one sin, you
knelt, you wept and
promised no recurrences,
You told Him,
You've had enough.

But you wake up
the next morning, and
put on the same shirt with
stains of yesterday,
Though you scrubbed it till
your hands blister.

Promises of purity are sweet,
But the vices you dabble in,
They're decadent.
And thus you indulge,
Ravenously.