40. scrubbing
lay me out on a platform atop a table, i'm just a mound of flesh, a body, a piece of dough play-doh pin, press, knead, thread i'm play-doh
it doesn't mean that much there's no metaphor, except the fact that i'm changing with each hard press the rough towel feels like a sandy palm of a hand, molding my body, a lump into a new lump putting pressure at points and i let myself go
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