Harmonious droplets sprinkle against the glass,

filling my ears with a sound more

precious

than today's thoughts.

Steam fills the room,

collecting in tiny beads,

all racing quickly.

Heavy and tight shoulders

slump

comforted by the constant patter

of water.

My hair sticks to my neck

like an embrace;

reminding me that

I am not alone.

Water trickles down the

ends of my fingertips,

suds and soap swirl

around my bare feet

and down the drain,

guzzling my disbelief away.

Today was a bad day.

But I will scrub those lies away

my body will sting, longing for the comfort

and warmth the burning words have brought.

But I will not let this water

burn my skin.

Not today.

I switch the water over to

cool,

letting the mist consume me for a little.

I turn the water off.

The drain gurgles and struggles to

swallow the pain and bitterness.

The sudden absence of water

urges my goosebump-covered skin

to escape the cold;

retreat back to what

had scalded me before.

But I remember that being

alone and clean and cold is better

than being lonely surrounded by

dirt and warmth.

It is okay.

Turn off the water if it gets too hot.

If it gets so hot I can hardly

scream out for help

myself.

Turn off the water.

End it.

Sometimes the bad days make

me regret the things that have ended.

Today was a bad day,

but there's nothing a little

soap and hope can't wash away today.