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Poem Details
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| Title: | Dirt |
| Author: | Megan Sprague |
| Date Submitted: | 1/13/2013 |
| Poem: |
I made a life for myself in the destructive, lustful, lives of the dirt, And as each piece of the filth found that I was dirtier than them, I''d roll in a new pile of mud. I toy with the shame and let it play me, now that I''m clean and alive. Without the dirt there''s a simple emptiness, A new life afraid to emerge. A sick mind has become disabling. All bridges to safety are burned by frigid guilt and shame. Without the dirt I still destroy myself and anyone who could keep me sane. The filth that turned me into mud, messy and full of disease, Has attached itself to everything I love and taken it away from me. It fills my lungs, I choke and gag and stumble uncertainly. The dirt makes me sick, but pouring water into those lungs is a deadly way to try and get clean.... |