The Bottom, The End
Location
Scrubbing and wiping
each and every day.
To wash away the
shame of the never ending past.
Layer after layer,
scraped away.
But the bottom, the end,
is never seen
Graffiti of your lies
covering the walls.
Dust of disobedience
coats the furniture.
Spraying here, polishing there,
never completely clean.
There’s the never ending hope
of having a new slate.
Feeling the stained carpets
haunts you of dishonesty.
The taste of pride
a bitter flavor never leaving.
Vacuuming the dirt
of lost respect.
Picking up the pieces
of failure.
Disgrace rings in ears
breaking the silence of being alone.
Sweeping away the dirt
of rejection under the rug.
Everything staying always hovering
over a once unsmudged conscience.
The optimism of a new start
whisked away.
Scrubbing, wiping,
washing, scraping,
spraying, polishing,
vacuuming, picking,
sweeping, whisking
stinks up all aspects of life.
But the bottom, the end,
is never seen.