It’s been years since we dated
and I still remember the mixing taste
of your lips and that sweet *****.

The bristles of my toothbrush have been bended
and I can still feel the ravishing flood of your flavor.

And every day, I visit the bathroom
to cleanse myself of the memory you
etched in my mind. You see,

sometimes, four baths are not enough
to erase the stench you left on my skin;

sometimes, emptying the perfume bottle
won’t make any difference.

The fogged mirror is whispering
that my cheek is still wearing
that imprint of your chapped lips
that I don’t remember you gave to me.

The shower walls are molding
and so is the bath tub;

Sometimes, I forget how we bruised
each other’s body by slamming the other
against the wall.

Sometimes, I forget how we turned
a mere bathroom into a house
full of living.

The drain is clogged again by the hair
I cut every day, and the room will flood
with rusted blood coming from the pipes of my broken body.

I know, you hid the soap

somewhere around the corners of my eyelids;
somewhere where the rats escape.

This is not about giving two *****
for a “Please, come back.”

This is not about begging pities,
under dim corner lights—No!

This is about washing a dirt filled face,
an overused ragdoll, with tears.