I look at the dirt, clenching my knee to my chest, afraid that it would devour me. As if I was sitting in a tank full of sharks, it was hungry.  I held the soap so dearly, finding myself in the same spot yearly, scrubbing my body until its raw. Water filled to the rim, in which I can’t swim and I sink my body underneath, beneath and below; cleansing myself, being born again, under the roofs of my own home.  Only to be set free for the night and drowning in water the next. I ripped out the passages of the bible, I’m vexed, if this is a test it is too complex what did God expect perfection? Well it’s not me.
Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday there is no hope, when depression and anxiety comes in knocking on the door Thursday and Friday. I find myself on Hell's highway, driveway, leading a path back to tub. Where the razor blades lay still, the water is filled to the rim and pity is not longer a party but a club. Yet I am the only one, standing there under the disco ball, with no lover, no significant other just me myself and I.
Just me and my sin in the tub.