The hot water is not the only burning feeling present.
It can’t drown the thoughts, but I still try.
Scrubbing my head as if the soap will seep into the corners of my mind.
Wisps of hair come with every attempt of ripping out the bad.
They add up into clumps.
Slipping off my body and into the drain where I wish the thoughts would go too.
But maybe if I scrub a little harder.
The conditioner comes next to soften whatever hair is left.
Soften the results of the damage it went through.
Condition it into thinking that everything will be okay.
The thoughts can be flipped.
The conditioner will wash away too.
Maybe if I scrub a little harder.
Washing my body is trying to cleanse the stains of sorrow as if they won’t come back the next day.
All the dirt and oils can leave but we know it’s only temporary.
Am I really clean?
Maybe if I scrub a little harder.
I can turn off the hot water but the heat is still there.
A towel can only cover so much of my regret.
The mirrors are all fogged and the silhouette of a body stands there.
The pain is still visible even when the dirt isn’t.
Midday showers are only midday when you can tell time.
When’s the middle of the day when you’re waking up three or four times a night wishing you were clean?
Maybe if I scrub a little harder.