cool solace.

The rim of the tub was cool as I looped my arms around it. Sometimes I would lie in the dry tub naked, sated by the contact of smooth porcelain with skin, inverted– I would press my bare back against its natural arch. Sometimes I let the water run, pounding between my feet, drowning out the noise of lunatics in my head as I studied the unperturbed white of the walls– a reflection of something I would never have. This was how I got to sleep. By lying in the bathtub enveloped by cold, imagining bones breaking and fragmenting. Collapsing like dominoes into a void of space, collapsing into neat stacks of imperfect shards, resilient like black steel.

Here come the waves.

Lungs leaden, legs motionless, my body fights to stay in place. The inertia of crashing water still manages to push me back from the gates of feigned happiness.


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