I can’t sleep between sheets, hot with the day
That tugged at my nerves until they were raw,
And so I will find myself on hands and knees,
Between plastic bottles and buckets that slop
With steaming hot water, smelling of bleach.
Scrubbing at marks that hardly exist,
In the desperate hope that it washes away
The unfortunate pain of a world is mad
With perfection and abundance, unattainable to you.
You wipe and you dust, thinking it helps
Spraying those bottles scented with lemon
And hoovering powders from thick, shaggy carpets.
You can clean and make tidy, but never it changes
That the raw disinfectant that eats at your skin
And eats into night hours at 2:37;
It won’t clean away the spots and the blemishes
Clouding the life that keeps you awake.
Better to sleep and rinse out the brain,
Tangled in sheets, unwashed and creased.