Stepping under the spray of icy water he shudders

against the pressure on his purpled chest, and the

torture of this glass stall. He forgoes body wash,

willing the water alone to rid his body of sweat and sin.




It does not.




Flushed skin and uneven breaths; his thoughts

are desperate, for he knows he has been marked,

permanently, and unlike a Sharpie the evidence

will not fade after repeated scrubbing.




He has been tainted and can’t come clean.




It’s a secret though, because no one needs to know

that each of his thoughts pushes him nearer to the

fires of hell. Thoughts about attraction and bodies

that are the wrong shape, with not enough curves.




He needs this problem to disappear.




So he resolves to make it do so. This shower is

futile; instead of cleansing himself, he can only

hide and deny this condemnable love. Surely this

will save him from the fate of the eternally damned.