We go to wipe the past away
But always, we leave smudges —
A thing that’s quite apparent.
Even less discerning judges
Will see the telltale signs we leave,
The trace of what once was:
But habits of denial are
Among our chief faux pas
Why is that we con ourselves?
I cannot really say —
I just live with my smudges, now,
They never
Go
Away
To share is human:
