Standing in front of the mirror
That surreal feeling after a bender through sleep deprivation fed by mania and exhaustion.
The blurring of the edges that is sharp
Keep staring at the hands, keep washing. The water so hot that the pink will never leave.
The feeling that eyes are on me again
Ignoring them and keep washing. The water isn’t changing colors yet.
That cold stare from the sharpened blur.
Why won’t they come clean? If one is dirty, can it possibly clean the other?
Don’t look up
The thunder of the waterfall cleans the noises from the air.
The steam floats up and condenses on hair hanging free over the forearms.
Obscuring the eyes staring at me.
Just watch and scrub. Wait for the cleaning that brings peace.
The waterfall is not covering it up completely.
That sound that crescendos the clips. Just smile and clean. Bite. It. Down.
Don’t. Look. Up.
Eye contact lets it back in. It should be happy.
Behind the glass. Stay behind the Glass. Don’t cross the yellow line
Scrub, don’t look.
Dirty hands rubbing make clean hands make clean water.
Waterfalls and runs away. Waterfalls and steam rises. Obscure the eyes.
You looked!
Why did you look?!?!
It can see us now. It knows we know and now it can go.
Hands not moving.
glass vibrating.
Breathe in
reach out
Why won’t the water run clean?
Look away
Why are its fingers on the glass?
Hold hands.
But now they won’t be clean!
The washing was in vain.
In vein
Don’t look away