Messy, messy

You are not a ghost,

You are not dead.

You are a shadow on the wall,

A puddle on the ground.

A mess to be cleaned.

I am not your maid,

I cannot repair you.

Well... I change my mind.

I could fix you, I could clean you.

But who likes that kind of stuff?

Who would like you?

I lost my reasons,

I forgot.

My hands held that broom,

Sweeping, sweeping,

And the only thing to break that trance,

That devotion,

Was for you to scream at me,

Just how dirty you are.

What a mess!

The End

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