Wash It Away

The water was too hot, and I knew it would be. I force my hands under and wait for the pain to seize. It becomes familiar fast; my skin is crying out by my mind is welcoming a reluctant friend.

I watch the water attack my open wounds, seeping deep into my recollections. Clean dishes become infected with my blood as I continuously fight the losing battle. My neck is burdened, collapsing my eyes to the floor. Rigidly accepting denial. I don’t want to look at the window because I know my reflection will appear. Street lights, the dark night and then a tiny portion of me. My breath has slowed, and I can feel my body begin to dismantle. Weight removed from every fibre except my god damn neck.

I can no longer feel my hands, yet my wounds still sting. My cuts may as well be floating in the air at this point, but the attachment is miraculously ever-present. Finally, unsweepable dirt. Permanent breaks…I deserve this.

Droplets fall from my face. Sabotaging my good work, good clean work. Blood and tears meeting water and soap. Guilt and regret meeting obligation and applause. It has never been this bad before. Normally by this point, the TV is on, and a smile can surface.

I give up and remove the plug. The water begins to retreat, but the sink clogs. Blonde hair salvaging the bloody remains. I go to untangle the evidence, but as soon as my hands feel the hair, screams pierce my resolve.

Help Help Help Help Help Help. I can no longer think. Her head in my hands, her body my duty. I can’t fucking think! I tremble and place my forehead onto the counter. The heart races again, automatic preparations for another soul split.

My head cools, and with it comes tranquillity. I think I am ready. Slowly, my neck releases itself. I stare into my reflection, and I’ll stare until I feel you disappear.

Cheers