My washing machine, turns round and round

Attempting to cleanse my dirty deeds

It’s washed this load before, to contain the secret

And keep it safe from thieves

It’s tireless in its quest, to make these tattered clothes

Pristine and with no stains

Trying all the angles, bleaching imperfection away until

No sign of it remains

It’s relentless because, I can’t bear the idea that

My pure colors won’t come back

So it tries and tries, frantically fixated

On new strategies to attack

So the machine swirls and hums, in desperate hope

That this blood and dirt won’t leave a stain

But the truth is some mistakes, don’t come out in the wash

Especially those infused with pain