After years, and the harshest parts of the shower.
There was your old bathwater, and I became braver…
then slowly boiled to death.
I laughed.
To float in the water… shoulders dipped… swathes of warm around your neck…
slight pressure pushing you down.
Closed eyes… push yourself under… knees become cold,
in a world otherwise warm.
Breathe in… soapy water… burns my throat… slowly drift, drift… drift…
exposed and concealed, there are ducks on the curtain.
I think about your indifference as I submerge my head.
Heart becomes frenzied, a spark of enthusiasm in a life otherwise dead… flutter. Misunderstanding or despair pressed between sheets of odium or water,
I haven’t decided yet… flutter.
I gave you the world and you mustered a smile… flutter.
The water keeps my skin from falling away for a short time, at least… flutter.
At least, I hadn’t noticed the pattern on the bathroom ceiling before.


7 thoughts on “Bathwater

    1. Thanks Mikey! There’s nothing quite like a hot bath, a bubblegum candle, and a good book. Except I always overheat and have to lie on the floor for about 20 minutes afterwards. Swings and roundabouts.


  1. Duckies! I love the sheets of odium! Odium. The 0th element. 0 protons, 0 neutrons, and 1 electron flying about in abandoned rage.

    This was really fun to read, Anna! I don’t want to drag you away from the prose you write because this has been one of my favorite places to read it. But this was really fun.


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