Tonight, I scrubbed at my body like my skin was trying to forget you.
I pressed soap into every individual pore as hard as I once wrapped myself around you,
Stripped my hair of all oils so that it could no longer feel like how your fingers ran through it
And let the bubbles run down the curves of my body as I turned the water so hot-
My skin glowed red and angry, I wasn’t sure if it was at you, or me.
The steam evaporated into the ceiling as quickly as you did when I drove away.

I stepped out- skin burning and fingers like raisins,
Collarbones red from scrubbing so roughly,
Hair tangled and dripping, soap still running down my back
Drops of water tracing each knot in my spine before dripping into the puddle at my feet.
I wrapped the towel tightly around me and it didn’t feel like you any longer,
It finally felt like I washed you down the drain.
New skin will grow over and I will finally belong to myself again.