The meal You made Yourself

I wish it would rain.
I wish it would pour.
I wish the water would sweep me away to wherever it may go.
Is that an uncommon feeling?
To want to be cleansed.
To rid Yourself of the grime that coats you.

Not feeling clean enough to lay in your bed.
No matter how often You bathe in your own child like innocence,
will you ever get over that feeling of wanting to hurt Yourself.

Salt stained cheeks.
The bitterness of a dry, underfed mouth.
The sweetness that You care about Yourself enough to let it out.
The sour of the moment.

That meaty lump inside your throat
You choke on,
Wishing for water to flush it out.
But it stays for another day.

You take it all in,
The meal You made Yourself.