I have these little voices.

Do I just fall,
For every girl I meet?
Am I so desperate,
That I need to clean my feet?
Clean my body of all,
This dirt.

This dirt is my sin,
And my sin can never,
Be washed away.
No amount of running,
Or exercise,
Will tone my attributes.

So, why do I fall?
And why am I always falling?
And at what to point do I stop?
I’ve never known,
Less to be more.
And more or less,
I never will.

But, never say never,
Never talk in absolutes.
I can only hope my sin,
Is unnoticeable,
To those I fall before.

And I have these little voices,
Whispering pains to my ears.
And they tell me what I know,
And what I know is this…