Crying into the bath
It soaks its sponge.
The pink lather writhes in its fingers.

Bleeding from the wrists
It dabs tentatively.
The sponge adds red to pink

It soaks the sponge again,
In the vat of redder bubbles.
The copper scent claws up its nose.

Its arms loose grip
Of the cleansing sponge
Its mind fades red to black.