my veins pop out of my skin from underneath the heat of the shower, as I bask in two mixtures of water
TEARS AND TAP WATER
my paper cuts burn from underneath the heat of the shower, the paper I used to write my apologies over and over that are for you
AND THEY WILL NEVER BE SENT
my skin wrinkles from underneath the heat of the shower, as I stand in the liquid for way too long to pity myself
EVEN THOUGH I SHOULDN'T
my music plays outside the curtain near the heat of the shower, sorrowful lyrics ringing in my ears
AND I SING ALONG
my soaps and shampoos lay scattered from underneath the heat of the shower, the price tags pealing
AND I DON'T BOTHER ABOUT THE MESS
my mirror fogs from the heat coming from underneath the heat of the shower, as I stare at my reflection blankly and draw shapes
LIKE IT WAS ALL MY FAULT
underneath the heat of the shower, my only pain comes from myself.
YOU ARE READING
Eunoia
PuisiBehind every poem is a story too afraid to be told bluntly. . . . I intend to write to make you feel.
