Shocked to tears again by the bespoke scuttles
Of the rats, or cockroaches, great cockroach-rats
I run to the safety of the bathroom
Here is my waystation, my operating theatre, my purifying well
I have laid in soapy luxury and been dusted
With a comet's tail of calmness
I have plastered an abattoir of self-loathing
The thankless throne receiving my acidic confession
A room at once charged and still
Slicking open the window
Birdsong swells over the walls
The clack of horse hooves swishes into the wail of a police siren
My bathroom has a single mirror
And no door, wrenched monstrously
In the agony of a July hangover
The mirror splintered, pieces of my reflection
Still hiding in pockets, like a ripped up photo
My bleached descent forever captured and disseminated
Well I unscrewed the door
And the new mirror is a pink striped compact
Where I can narrow the horror to a manageable speck
Serenaded by the asphalt choir
My bathroom, undoored, keeping out the rats.
@nepion_boreas17
