You turn the water on.
You pour in the neglected bubble bath liquid, you pour in a lot.
You are expecting much from this bottle as you empty it of its contents. You step into the tub and lay down.
Then you see; your toes stick out of the water, the water gets cold too fast, there are no toys to distract you from the awkward silence between you and the bubbles you were expecting to ease your pain, to set your mind free.
You curse the bubbles, stand up and pull the drain, not bothering to watch the soapy water swirl into nothingness.
You turn the shower on and rinse off.
You get out and wrap a towel around you and put on your sinful clothes.
You walk away from the bathroom.
It’s then that you realize your skin is baby soft, the bubbles had done something for you after all.
You forgot to thank them before you pulled that plug, sending them to their doom.
It wasn't their fault.
You are the one that grew, that left them in the back of your cupboard. You're ashamed for only about a minute before you return to your daily routine, only to get ***** once again.
Mar 29, 2016
Mar 29, 2016 at 12:53 PM UTC
You turn the water on.
You pour in the neglected bubble bath liquid, you pour in a lot.
You are expecting much from this bottle as you empty it of its contents. You step into the tub and lay down.
Then you see; your toes stick out of the water, the water gets cold too fast, there are no toys to distract you from the awkward silence between you and the bubbles you were expecting to ease your pain, to set your mind free.
You curse the bubbles, stand up and pull the drain, not bothering to watch the soapy water swirl into nothingness.
You turn the shower on and rinse off.
You get out and wrap a towel around you and put on your sinful clothes.
You walk away from the bathroom.
It’s then that you realize your skin is baby soft, the bubbles had done something for you after all.
You forgot to thank them before you pulled that plug, sending them to their doom.
It wasn't their fault.
You are the one that grew, that left them in the back of your cupboard. You're ashamed for only about a minute before you return to your daily routine, only to get ***** once again.
broke the poem up because a few people suggested it
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