March 7th, 2017
in the corner
on the floor
of my shower
there’s a stain
on some days
it is grey
and on some days
it is glass
on grey days
i try to clean it
and i scrub
until my fingers bleed
but the grey
just taints my body
with a tone
that never rinses
on glass days
i want to break it
so i kick it
while the children sleep
but the glass
just calls me nearer
though what’s behind it
cares not for me
everything’s uprising
everything is in revolt
yet i am focused quite intently
upon imagined imperfections
something is wrong with me
something cold water cannot fix
something is still missing
my god, the children are now waking