Stay in the shower as long as you want.
Turn the water as hot as you need.
Rub down your body, each crevasse and limb.
keep on scrubbing until you bleed.
You won't get the dirt off.
It's inside.
Strip off your skin and claw out your flesh.
Expose your hidden self underneath.
Run the water over 'till your muscles are sore.
Keep on scrubbing. You won't find relief.
You still won't get the dirt off.
It crawls in your blood.
Pull out your veins. Drain out the tubes.
Let it run dry so you get it all out.
Fill up the tub. You're sure to win now.
But you still haven't realized what this is about.
You won't get the dirt out.
It's inside your head.
Cut open your skull. Pull out your brain.
Amputate every ill-found regret.
Pick open each lobe. Each neuron until
You're sure that it's over, you'll finally forget.
But you'll never get the dirt out.
You're already dead.

At first the moment's rather fair,
Not stolid nor extreme.
You're focused on some parcel
of habitual routine.
Light heartedly you go about,
not the slightest thing awry,
but alas, here comes that
creeping,
crawling,
plotting..
and you repeat that ritual lie:
"There is no creeping crawling inside,
just focus on your task.
it's only but a thought you have the power to deny,
Don't mind it, it will pass."
You go about your business,
but you begin to pick up the pace
as the colloquial chore becomes
An all consuming race.
You then commence to
huff and gasp
for extra air your body needs
But you dreadfully realize you're not going to last
The murk has already planted its seed.
When did the shadows that lurk in your room
become such fast-growing creatures?
From where came the armor and weapons galore
That embellish their terrifying features?
When did your fingers begin to quiver and shake
10 minutes ago you didn't regret being awake,
But now you cannot stand,
your chest has turned to sand,
Panic begins to band
With all the wretchedness of the land
And you cannot understand
how you became so weak at the hands
of the unmerciful demands
For entertainment of this cursed, wicked, sinister, unrelenting horror that is not woman nor man!
but then all falls silent. The stillness grows.
That dark cloud of defeat encircles your throat
And you know
That you have lost.
Abandoned.
No one came.
You've pleaded to them. You've cried out their name.
but it was one of a million. The end is the same.
At first the moment's rather fair.
Sedated. Inextreme.
This unpassive, smothered bliss is now your  prevalent routine.

Betrayal is black
It smells like the ashes of burned hope
It tastes like poisoned fruit
It sounds like a raging war
It feels like falling into a serpents nest
It looks like the wreckage of a bright soul
Betrayal creates a thirst for revenge