vile

What is more vile —  the dress that covers dignity,  or the attire of civility? Clothed or bare, aren’t we all vile? — Then I ask — what is vile?  Is it what lies outside,  or what hides within? In or out, aren’t we all vile? — And what does vile look like?  Is it all that I see,  or all I refuse to unsee? Seen or unseen, isn’t it all vile? — Who among us is vile?  The ones who lied,  or the one who hides? Truth or disguise, aren’t we all vile? — Why can’t I be vile?  Why not — why mustn’t I?  If we are forsaken, why hide? Run or repent, we are all vile. — Aren’t we all vile?  Every one of us — vile.  So vile we are,  and vile we choose to be. — Are we vile, I ask again —  if the beating heart pains  when tears are shed, isn’t it a choice — isn’t it a choice?