the water from the faucet drips slowly, filling the tub centimeter by centimeter. you blocked off the little hidden drain
so you can fill it to the brim,
submerging yourself in the blood of
you light a single candle, pressing down
slowly on the trigger of the lighter,
the flame licks the wick for a few seconds, before the wick’s flame overpowers that of the lighter. it’s stronger, more
furious, angry. it can feel the energy that surrounds
you tonight, the wick feeds off of it. you place it in the corner of the bathroom, by the sink. the curves of your
naked valley are admired by your reflection in the
toothpaste stained mirror,
but not by you.
pressing a finger to the mirror,
a finger stained in blood, dried, crusted, peeling off, your reflection waves back at you, smiling
through her teeth, holding back a laugh that
would echo through your soul from the ground up. the day she appeared was the best day of your pathetic life, but no matter how
hard you try to switch places with her,
she won’t let you in.
as you step into the tub, one foot at a time, the water flows over the edge, splashing onto the ceramic tile floor that never seems to look clean no matter
how hard you scrub or how long
you stay on your knees trying to make her
the water turns red,
a soup of somebody else’s making,
but you can’t remember who it was that got
all over you. slipping your head under the water, your reflection watches you, even with your eyes closed. her eyes turn black, black like the darkest
corner of the room, black like the cat that crossed your path weeks ago, black like the night sky when there’s no moon
to illuminate your path.
when you lift your head out of the water,
the wick blows out,
and she’s gone. but you can’t see yourself anymore, either.