Shame suggests a white and shiny vest
to hide some ugly stains upon my chest.
It´s daily washed with flower´s scent,
shine brightly, cloth of innocence.
Disinfectant´s toxic, yet perfection
should grant a microscopic clean deception.
The jacket now is fitting somewhat strait,
can´t seem to easily disrobe that trait.
Back then, born nude, there was no need for shame
and now my tailoring´s revealed as vain.
But here I am, remembering my skin,
I long for life to strip me once again.

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