Read Phobia A-Z :: Mysophobia

Clean.

They have to get clean.

Scrub.

scrub.

I keep scrubbing and scrubbing, but they never get clean.

Ever since that thing touched me with its human hand, even though it was nothing human about it. It sang its disgusting song as the germs splattered my arms and covered my flesh like another skin.

Yet I scrub and scrub and scrub, but it never gets clean.

I rinse and scratch with soap, steel wool, and sponge. Scrubbing till my skin tears and blood mix, yet I'm never clean.

Scrub.

The flesh is simply too dirty. The germs have made it their own. So I was it of just so I can finally be clean.

Wains pop and muscle become bare as the threads of skin fall down the sink. However, I am still not clean.

Clean.

I have to get clean.

The soap burns my muscles as I rub them off. Nerves snap and muscle break as I scrub.

Scrub.

My bones are hollow yet full of germs. So I scrub and rinse and clean. Yet I am still dirty.

I claw at my face.

Oh god.

How dirty it is.

Best I clean it.

So I scrub and clean.

Scrub and clean.