Blood on thy hands

Scrub scrub scrub

It does not come off

Outward it expands

Like lady Macbeth

Out damned spot

Thou wilt shout and demand

But alas

Tis useless

Not even Neptune's oceans nor wetlands can do this

Thou must cancel thy plans and enter a trance

Focus on nothing but that damned spot

And thy guilt from what thou hast wrought

Ye ought to be sought for what ye has brought

(Poetry)