Flawed Perfection.
All has crumbled. This monument that was my life has shattered in my very hands.
It never was so great, seeing it's many flaws.
I guess not.
In this crumbled, broken mess I lay in the shower, sulking in my memories, my face vacant of expression. The porcelain tub is cold against my back, but the contrasting heat from the shower sends a nurturing wave throughout my body with each drop of water. The drops remind me of the pain I've endured. The pain reminds me that I'm still here, and more pain is awaiting outside these shower curtains.
I bring my legs to my chest, wrapping my arms around them, huddled to the side of the tub, water rushing down my naked soul.
Naked. It's more than body. It's mind. It's soul.
Naked, everything exposed.
And I think of her.
She's a torn page from a book. Nothing but broken words and shattered meanings.
She's incomplete without him, and she knows it.
She's filled up the tub, and closed the curtain. The warm water is up to her breasts, and she sighs with a physical release. Yet her mind remains tense.
Bringing her hands to the sides of the tub, she forces her whole body under. Submerged, will all the sorrow and all the pain. She drowns her fears.
The silence this privacy offers purges thought.
And she thinks of him.
I haven't written like this in a while. I really like it, only because it's so much of me in it.
It never was so great, seeing it's many flaws.
I guess not.
In this crumbled, broken mess I lay in the shower, sulking in my memories, my face vacant of expression. The porcelain tub is cold against my back, but the contrasting heat from the shower sends a nurturing wave throughout my body with each drop of water. The drops remind me of the pain I've endured. The pain reminds me that I'm still here, and more pain is awaiting outside these shower curtains.
I bring my legs to my chest, wrapping my arms around them, huddled to the side of the tub, water rushing down my naked soul.
Naked. It's more than body. It's mind. It's soul.
Naked, everything exposed.
And I think of her.
She's a torn page from a book. Nothing but broken words and shattered meanings.
She's incomplete without him, and she knows it.
She's filled up the tub, and closed the curtain. The warm water is up to her breasts, and she sighs with a physical release. Yet her mind remains tense.
Bringing her hands to the sides of the tub, she forces her whole body under. Submerged, will all the sorrow and all the pain. She drowns her fears.
The silence this privacy offers purges thought.
And she thinks of him.
I haven't written like this in a while. I really like it, only because it's so much of me in it.