Bathwater

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.

The Hair Ball Monster

My hair had been falling out all autumn. Perhaps it had been the time of the year, the poor diet consisting mainly of toast and marshmallows, or the buckets of hair dye that had caused the little strands to wander off into the distance, making a break from their hairy prison. Hairs would fall out as I brushed them, or dried them, or tried to wash them. They would even fall out while I was asleep, and often I would wake up and find that some of them had tried to kill me. It was the way of things. It was the way it always had been, and always would be. I poisoned my hair with toast; they tried to strangle me in my sleep. I felt we had reached a good understanding. Continue reading “The Hair Ball Monster”