"Lies," you scream. Hands scramble to cover your ears in hope to muffle the sound. These verbal blows bruise your soul. Worthless, Worthless, Worthless.. The words echo through your mind. As you stare in the mirror you see the rotting piece of flesh you've become. Quickly you grab a sponge in hopes to scrub yourself clean, to see the pink freshness of the purity you once had. As you scrape and scrub you mutter to yourself, "I'm not filth, I'm not filth." Unable to look into the mirror you gaze into the sink catching a glimpse of your image in the pink-tinged waters. Crying softly you thrust in your hands to block out the distorted view. Will crumbling you slide with a thud to the floor marking the white walls with your crimson disease. Carnal rage, once suppressed by hate, leaps forth, and with no further thought you ache to scratch out the very thing you despise. Screams bursting forth in withered defeat as you claw until your strength seeps out. And as you now lay in crimson waters staring out with dead eyes, you wonder why you believed the lies.