There is something
so familiar
about fluorescent lights
and white tile;
it's so familiar
my stomach aches.
I think it comes
from the times
I laid myself bare
in bathroom stalls;
safe havens
of false privacy,
a reliable friend.
The trash receptacles
that held words
that choked
my fifteen year old throat.
The faithful ceiling fans
that ****** up
my desperate
time killing smoke.
The scratched up mirrors
I'd stare into
without even
seeing myself.
I could sit for hours
hot head on the cool tile
the bright lights
tiring my eyes,
tasting salt,
and smelling the cheap
pink soap,
feeling the heavy
comfort, like home.
Sep 13, 2020
Sep 13, 2020 at 10:04 PM UTC
There is something
so familiar
about fluorescent lights
and white tile;
it's so familiar
my stomach aches.
I think it comes
from the times
I laid myself bare
in bathroom stalls;
safe havens
of false privacy,
a reliable friend.
The trash receptacles
that held words
that choked
my fifteen year old throat.
The faithful ceiling fans
that ****** up
my desperate
time killing smoke.
The scratched up mirrors
I'd stare into
without even
seeing myself.
I could sit for hours
hot head on the cool tile
the bright lights
tiring my eyes,
tasting salt,
and smelling the cheap
pink soap,
feeling the heavy
comfort, like home.
March 20 something, 2020
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