Hour after hour, I sit in a cup
On lucky days, I am infront of a mirror
Not to see me, its for you to see you.
In white rooms built of tiles,
Like churches I drip with purity
Armed with chloride down your abyss
Atop a thick pile of flesh and muscle.
My journey is fueled by a need for hygiene
Smooth like an artist
That pile is my stage, the moonwalk my dance
forwards, backwards you name it
Right and left to the tune of your stench
One stroke at a time
Rubbing everything clean
to keep the doctor away
In young mouths an old
never smelly or stinky
like a sand dog not everyday is the same
but my name will always be the same.