Can't sleep.
Bathroom.
Fill it up.
Bubble it up.
Get in.
Intrusive thought.

*

You'd be surprised.
Used to the purpose of cleaning
And pleasured times.

And I fantasize about suicide.
The sense of quietness and structure,
What most of us ambitions in life.

...

The sides of the bathtub
Rise up like castle walls
Keeping me safe and
Allowing me to ignore
The world outside of them
My small safe haven
My fortress of solitude
A place where I can
Simply be in existence
But not taking up space

~           *light on,
still-frame freeze of black bodied eight-legged life
     clinging to stained acrylic. we stare at each other pretending we're not real
until one of us moves.
                    
it was me.

Ask Peter Pan!

Lives of make believe,
Pretty **** good!

I bathe in my past mistakes to remind myself that they are there.
    
            - The wine is hard to wash off my skin.

Harassed light is cut and divided
coming of the day is decayed in milk,
the haggard moon is the latest unwelcome intrusion
Detached body parts are the new order of things
retracted senses ignore the smells of yesterday,
A quiet mayhem to each passing moment,
Each thought wrenches like sand under fingernails,
Settling into place briefly has no explanatory value.
Time is retracting wrapped in plastic,
Guttural cries the sea is a bathtub of regret
Formless burdens illuminated by the sun blunted and captured

Glaring light
and white
bathtubs.
Steam and
high pitched
melodies.
Running water
spreading warmth
spreading legs.
Silky cloths
for the freshly
bathed human.
Confusion and
worried faces
all washed away
by lukewarm
bathtub water.