Panic is a bathroom sink,
Grime-covered and overflowing,
Tearing the skin off my hands
With its vicious heat splashing,
Burning cold through spilled ink.

Inexorable dripping
From the rusted faucet,
Straight to its slimy veins
Sliding effortlessly through my entire being,
Puke mixed with minty paste
An attempt to be free.

Cerise-stained and overpowered
With bleach, an attempt to be clean.
Rotten all over and
Drowning in sour suffering,
Innocence and purity forever
Lost underneath.

Incessantly imbued and
Utterly consuming,
Panic is a bathroom sink.