Dirty

Careless, oblivious Heaven above
Wraps an error in Skin,
Parched for attachment, famished for love,
But its love is a sin.

You can see what it seems to be,
Not what it is.
Virginity. Bliss.
The depth that's unfathomed — it guarantees.
You see,
The fingers had not even counted to five,
When disappointment welled up in your eyes.
Because under Skin where you're running to dive –
The lies, only lies,
I writhe, only writhe.

The Heaven has taught me —
You're dead means you're clean.
But blasphemy. I am alive and I lean,
Gravitate towards dirt,
Guilty pleasure,
Fast food,
Though it has never tasted that good.

Oh Skin is allured, it's seduced. And I use
Hating myself as a perfect excuse.
Inside I plant loathing, feel filled but deserted,
You, pristine, better keep off,
It's dirty.
 
And no one can judge —
Not a priest, not a church.
There's no churches around, so I search
For a fistful of mercy under my Skin.
Forgiveness... At least to begin.