a feminine statue made of silver,
melting in the bathroom.
sparkling tears of sadness
mixed with cold and iron hate
pouring down,
sliding, splashing, tumbling
across the glistening melted facade.

these fourty sqaure feet,
a haven, a refuge
as the collapsed metal figure
rests her head on the cool tiles,
which begin to melt
along with her.

time itself stands still
since, after all, a statue knows not
of the minutes (or hours) ticking by,
unbridled by the ache
in her stone cold chest
or the sound of the knob,
jiggling every so often.

an open mouth
with words unspoken,
full of rage and loneliness
closed with the squeak of the faucet.
a cold exterior.

an iron maiden
emerges whole again,
having lost another piece
of her splintered heart
in the firey mix of melted tears and agony.