A Face Washing

Face 1. 

Ah! I spy you there, hidden foe,

Watching me wash with those cold eyes

And spewing out those loveless sighs

What is it you wish me to show?

 

Face A. 

‘Tis not healthy to play such games,

For if you seek hope above all,

Out from your inner pit you’ll crawl

And put to task your self-kept claims.

 

Face 1.

What mean you by that, cruel jester?

You know the fetters that bind me

Only a scrub can briefly free–

O why must I be my tester?!

 

Face A. 

Lament, lament, you sad, sad sot!

Mingle your tears with running tap;

But look up if you wish the map

To guide you from your outward rot.

 

Face 1. 

Yet another morn spent with glass

And translating hums from the deep

Ere into bleak outworld I leap–

Out there it will all simply pass.

 

Face A.

Fly, then, fly! and hide yourself well,

I would you would never return,

For freedom from you I do yearn;

I too shall from this screen rebel.

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