Cleanliness

By the door, by the window
Bent on the floor, she sits. 
And cleans


By the nook of the bed, the drawer
A small speck of dirt
Oh no, she cleans.


Humble life forms
Cockroaches and mosquitoes
Are scared of her.
She cleans.


Day and night, night by day
She goes on cleaning.
Her house smells of detergent
The smell is sickening.


Her house so spotless, so white
But still, she cleans
Her hands, her body
Smell of disinfectant
Used to kill pests.


Her hair so rough
Her palms white and diseased
With prolonged detergent use.
But still, she must clean.


For,
Cleanliness is Godliness
For,
Cleanliness is Purity
For,
Cleanliness means no Dirt,
No Obscurity.
For, 
She hates dirt
And things that are dirty
As she is.
For,
Cleanliness is Beauty
And she is ugly.
For,
Cleanliness is Perfection
And she is but, a wasted reflection
Of her former self.


And when the house sleeps gently at night
She stealthily walks up to the bathroom
And standing by the mirror
She secretly checks her scars.


Scars on the neck, scars on the stomach
She washes them with detergent
And hopes she will be clean.
But they become swollen, more painful, those scars
And larger day by day.


And fresh scars adorn her body
Time after time.
Like a garland of soft petals
Sensitive, itchy, painful, these scars.
Detergent only makes them bigger
So she decides to use acid.


Acid cleans
Acid feels
Acid heals.
Acid will clean her.


So one night, in her spotless house
She pours acid over herself
In the hopes of becoming clean.
To cure her Incompleteness of Being.


But you, dear reader
Don't be appalled.
Isn't Cleanliness a great virtue?
Cleanliness of mind, body, soul?
Isn't Cleanliness a Perfect Being
The Most Loved One of All?