Wash

Stripping back the past as you wallow in the dirt.
Forcing me to join you, dripping in the hurt.
Pressing my face right up to the window of the mess.
As I please, and beg and prostrate that I’m trying to do my best.
You can’t undo it. And yet I knew it. You say that we blew. Here we go.
Can we focus on tomorrow, the beautiful, or the happy? Things that work better when we flow?

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