Octopus Garden

May 30, 2016 § Leave a comment

I miss bath tubs. It’s only an open shower, dirty grey tiles, water from the faucet splashing over only half. I am sitting and I have a glass of wine, feeling the burn from my mascara and eyeliner bleeding into me as the water washes it down. I have a strong distaste for emotion of any kind and I am at a loss for what to do at the moment. I know it will pass, this is a fleeting moment of sadness and loss in my life and I will appreciate it later. I am a melodramatic little piece though, I can’t help how I was made. I want to lay down on the dirty tiled floor, curl up or lay face up, all of my limbs hit with the drops, turn up the pressure so I feel it in the greatest capacity.

I stay in my seated position. I let myself think, such a dangerous hobby of mine. I can logically make sense of the situation and yet, I can’t help but think I am a lesser person, a lesser woman than this one. I know there are reasons, there are thoughts about me that haven’t been said, that I haven’t heard, either in the minds of others who have or exist solely in his own. Unsavory, salacious gossips about me. It hurts more because I know what might be said, know they’re true. If they were lies I could pass it off, bring his character down a few pegs. But no, it’s me. I am still a mess, I am still a child wanting to lie down in the shower and cry when she’s been upset by a man. How pathetic.




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