It's like discovering a ****** island,
inhabited by people who you thought never exist.
It's like finding a city buried by time,
hidden away from present tense.

A busker in front of the Abbey sings
"There must be some way outta here",
and every step I take along the glorious church,
every breath of a air I taste standing on Pulteney Bridge,
every second of the peaceful silence my soul fills up with
tells me
that there's no way out of here.

*28.08.2016

I wonder how many times you have climbed into a tub and thought,
"Wow maybe I could drown in hopes of escaping my life."
I dont know how many of you have thought that but let's just say a few.
One: I step into the tub with my left foot and the water is immensely warm.
Downing pills couldn't be that bad right now.
Maybe I could grab the bottle without anybody noticing.
I wonder if I could make my own concoction of medicine would suffice.
Concoction is a funny word.
Two: I step in with my right foot and everything is tingling from the heat.
If I charge my phone from the plug over there by the sink,
Could I electrocute myself?
I wonder how bad electrocution hurts.
Deep fried food would be nice right now.
Three: I sink into the tub and pull my knees to my chest.
if I lay back now and fight myself from breathing,
Could I do it?
I wonder how long it takes somebody to drown themselves in a tub while fighting their instinct to survive.
I could adapt and grow gills.
Four: I lay back into my tub and watch the water rise.
The water is warm and my body is heavy.
I can't **** myself because my headstone will be something sad,
My funeral will play music I'll hate listening to as a ghost,
People I don't even know will show up.
What if my ex shows up?
Five: I sink lower into the water until I can no longer hear clearly and it tickles the side of my eyes.
What's the point in breathing.
Breathing is so weird.
Why do I have to maintain a body that's going to die anyways?
I wonder what dying feels like.
Six: I've been in here for an hour. Maybe I should get out.
This water has turned mildly lukewarm.
I'd like to stay but I'm getting kinda cold and I like the warmth.
Could I just empty half and add more hot water?
I am sitting in a pool of my own dirt.
Great.
Seven: I'm climbing out while simultaneously pulling the stopper.
Theres so many different ways to say that you or somebody is dying;
Kick the bucket.
Pull the plug.
One foot in the grave.
Bite the dust.
Croak.
Some of them are kinda funny.
Eight: Realizing that I love baths but hate the thoughts that come with the quiet bathroom.
I'm exhausted.
The mental kind of exhausted.
Can I stop now?
Can I just lay down and close my eyes?
My anxiety is overworking me.
Nine: I open my door with a stiff towel and a cold room.
I love the quiet but the quiet kills.
I love my mind yet the way it works is poisonous to me.
Ten: Nothing.
Sitting.
Alone.
In my empty bedroom.

Tomorrow I said that I'll soak and bathe in the middle of your heart.
That I'll remove clothes from skin.
Then run my hands underneath the faucet then take hand to soap.
Tomorrow I said that I'll find another book to not read and sit it up on top the shelf.
Giving you my undivided.
Lying in water surrounded by creme colored porcelain.
A wash rag and a bar of soap made of your smile.
Tomorrow I said that I'll be more of a talker.
Especially in the moments of silence that become instant memories.
The silence being but a moment to embrace a time where words do no justice.
Long soap foam beard. Soap foam covering each follicle of hair on top of our heads.
I know tomorrow I said that I would do all of this and more.
But why wait when now is just as good as time as any.
Cleansing myself in you

I grew pregnant with my past,
unable to separate from the reality that began as a seed inside me.
Submerged in water, I tried to released you-
my past, my dear child...
but this bath of death,
flooded with the thick red of fluid despair,
held us closer together.
i want you,
twirling in my womb
under the moon at twilight
as i dance my way into whimsical decisions.
I feel you tap,
                   tap,
                      tap,
                         pry,
                             claw,
                                   scratch
at the lining of my uterine wall.
i want you,
i do not.
Sentiment is blinding.
My dear child...
you are not good for me,
though I hold you with eternal warmth.
I am your mother, you are my past.
I open my eyes,
I’m back in the steam of my hazy bath
like an aquatic portal in the corner of comfort and suicide.
The red is gone... yet it was never there.
All that remains is my fetal past pulsing perfectly.
My stomach breaks the grey pond within porcelain,
pertruding through the patches of rose colored suds.
Closing my eyes never looked so dark, the blackest black
like my favorite dreams.
My head falls back and the red liquid returns,
hugging the crevices of my face,
filling my hollow orifices,
pulling my life far enough to look over me
and smile
with pursed lips and one crystal tear...
i am submerged,
yet all I hear are whispers in this bed made of water
singing me lullabies as I drift into a synthetic evening.
I am tucked in, dreaming of the lightest light in the darkest black.
The contrast helps me understand life’s cogs and screws.
i place my pruned fingers on my pregnant stomach,
my fragile past..
You will not leave me, so I must leave you.
My life’s gentle claws let me go
and bursts through the sun and clouds,
as gravity holds me close to his chest and kisses my cheek bones.
I see the light in the laughing stars,
I lay lifeless,
belly full of a dead past.
Goodbye,
             my dear child.
                                 Goodnight.


© 2016 D.M.V