by Rickey Rivers Jr.
A shower every hour to wash the skin I’m in.
To wash away the sin I’m in, to wash off the sin within.
Nightmares wake me.
Air inhaled cinnamon.
I can’t apologize for other men who sin.
Just for myself and all that I hold in.
Hot water washes it away, helps me see another day.
Vividly, with red hot skin, yet it lies under ready to reveal again.
My skin keeps it in.
Dried and cracked, burned and black, hear it sizzle and burn?
Listen close.
Not too close.
Lest the sin pull itself from me to you, something that it tends to do,
leaving a fragment fresh behind for angry men to find.
My sin transfers and clouds the air to damage all beyond repair.
Disregarding idea of fair, knowing it can share despair.
No cares or worries, no shame or hurry.
The sin conquers one and all, able to make the mightiest fall.
Rickey Rivers Jr. was born and raised in Alabama. He is a writer and cancer survivor. His work has appeared in Three Drops from a Cauldron, A Twist in Time Magazine, Neon Mariposa Magazine, Crepe & Penn (among other publications). Follow him on Twitter @storiesyoumight or through his website https://storiesyoumightlike.wordpress.com/. His second mini collection of 3×3 poems is available now: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07SKBXN2H
(And check out Rickey’s poem Shoulder Perched Bird. – Elephants Never)