Tuesday, March 1, 2011


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

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