Water drips down my shoulders,
down my back and flat chest,
Clothing me in
A torrent of shimmering skin.
My ears are blocked for a moment,
Muffling the creaking
Of my weight shifting from one foot
To the other.
My eyes are closed,
Lest I see my reflection
In the rapidly steaming up windows
Turned mirrors in the night.
I cross my arms over myself,
But it does little more than
Remind me of the
Wreck I've become.
I try desperately to wash
Thoroughly without touching
My anatomy too much,
Letting gravity do its work as much
As I can,
Wondering if I should just
Ignore some places in favour of
Beating my mind
Into the wrong shape
Again.
But of course I must remain clean,
Even as my mind grows thick with
Grime, muck, blood,
That agony can be
Slept off,
Or hidden,
Or left to dry,
Or wiped away.