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Bathtub This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine.

I’m filled with hope,
introspection,
disappointment – a cesspool
of her soul.
I’m a Saturday-night refuge,
a safe haven for the weak one,
for the sickly model
who didn’t make Vogue.
I’m the waste basket
for Rabelaisian nights,
licentious lingerie, the smudges in her record,
a broken record, record, record, record …
I’ll forever repeat in her mind.
Trodden to a pulp,
she retreats one night
into my arms – my
scalding, wet arms.
Clear liquid cascades from her
bloodshot eyes, gore flooding
from her puling wounds,
from her fearful heart,
into my recesses.
I wish I could help her,
that shame-faced Barbie doll,
lipstick slathered across her
bony cheeks, imperfections oozing
from her skeletal silhouette.
But I’m hollow, a chemical lake
of porcelain and stainless steel –
I’m a muffled drain
that runs from the Federal water supply.

This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. This piece has been published in Teen Ink’s monthly print magazine.




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