Cleanser

Bathing is too harsh a punishment

Old wounds in plain view

Each rhythmic thump

Spotlights each scar

And their collective memory

Vivid recollections of a past

I’ve long since lost,

Cleansing lasts much longer

Than it ever should, ever could

Focus distracts and fixates

Mildew creeping, surfacing

Above the decorative tiling,

Stinging as the scars awake,

Announce their reason for being,

Over and over, repeatedly

Reminders of the man I used to be,

Hands swing in lapping fashion,

Walls slime through condensation,

Filth swirls in whirlpool patterns

Towards a drain that calls out,

Prophesizes, forecasts where I’ll be soon,

I know I’m in a delicate place,

And so do those knocking on the door