the boiling water descends 
flowing over the skin your hands
ran down.
bullets spew from the shower head
like a machine gun
mowing down my enemy
that hides in my curves
but with its horrible accuracy
there will always be survivors.

scrubbing my skin unit my
impure white skin turns raw pink,
i try to absorb my regrets with my sponge.
They stick to my skin though,
in the shapes of your handprints
leaving me covered in tracks
as if i was sloppy seconds.

my skin is left with battle scars
that i try to bleach away.
i want to start over:
clean, white, pure.
i know that although the stain
may be gone from my skin
it will always follow
in my shadow
chained to me.