Bathroom Floor

The view from here is an uphill climb

As I crane my neck skyward,

I look with blind eyes.

A single pane of reflective glass

Bearing down its rays

Like the harsh sun outside. 

But my eyes are blind,

I cannot see the face

Staring back at me.

The face I tore off,

The face attached

To the broken skull, 

Cracked in thoughts, 

By the thoughts 

Eating me.

Gravelly grooves etched into

The tiles wrapping me

An endless net that catches me

As I fall, drowning, crashing

Into the tiles, the stones

That slap the face and crack

The skull beneath that is already broken.

Grooves in tiles 

Like grooves on arms

Grooves cut deep

Through the bone 

Grooves etched into the brain

Memories, pathways to dreams

I dare not dream for fear

I’ll wake up falling, colliding

Into the bars of this prison.

Paralyzed, strapped down,

This make-believe prison

Or is it real? I can’t tell,

What’s holding me down

Against the cold, cursed tiles.

Tiles clacking, click, click, clack

Again and again in my brain,

In my brain again and again,

It won’t stop the clicking

The fucking clacking

The noise, it’s deafening,

I scream.

But no matter

The walls, the screams

They reverberate and ricochet

Right back toward me

Knocking me down, the sheer force

Of my own terror, immeasurable.

This isn’t my first time

Caught in crossfire

Caught in between the fighting

The war tearing open my brain

My skull, my entire facade.

Poof, a breath of wind

And I fall over, flimsy,

Held together by the grooves

Keeping the tiles from falling apart.

Because who knows,

They might trick me

They might just gape open

And let me sink deeper

Until I drown in the black sea

Opening its mouth to swallow me.

Drip, the faucet runs, the drops incessant

Hammering down like rain,

A torrent, a storm blowing across,

A hurricane, a sudden downpour.

A cry for help escapes,

Ricochets yet again, bounces

Against my phantom skin.

The single reflective pane

Unforgiving, refuses to yield.

So I gaze up, blind

Wondering what’s up there

What’s beyond, is there even anything there?

Dare I disappoint myself?

If I stand and try to look,

What if it’s barren wasteland

Just straight ahead, and the longer 

I stay down here, the safer it is?

Because if I never know,

Then I can never be let down.

If I don’t let myself hope,

That there is something out there, then

I wouldn’t have to worry about

What would happen if

There really is nothing up there. 

Because hope is for dreams

And dreams are for naught,

Dreams are flushed down toilets

Because they rot in reality

Laid out in the harsh sun,

Dried up like raisins. 

And if I choose to stay

And choose to never know,

Then I can keep pretending

This make believe prison I’m in

Wasn’t self-constructed

Because let’s face it,

I’m a little fucked up,

Just a tiny bit broken,

A single bit fragile

And a hell of a lot unstable.

I don’t make sense,

I don’t understand,

What exactly is wrong

What went wrong,

What how why

Why do I have to 

Always end up like this.

Stuck,

In the same spot,

The same rock bottom

The same dead tiles 

To envelop me.

So that every time I spiral,

I end up down here.

Fires surrounding me

Little fires I’ve set

To burn myself slowly

In my own terror,

My own shame,

My own fear,

My own worries,

My own guilt,

My own dissatisfaction,

My own hatred,

My own anger,

Simmering, boiling me

In my own pain.

Half of who I want to be

Half feeling, half hoping

Half of everything, just a part

Never whole, never fully actually

A real human being.

So what’s it like

To really give up,

I’m always so close,

But I can’t quite

Pull the trigger

Or let myself drown.

I always somehow

End up on the shore,

Ragged, bleeding, 

Completely torn up. 

But somehow safe yet again.

Maybe it’s the fraying ends

The dying gasps of my sanity

Holding me back,

Keeping me down,

In this make-believe prison

The one I made for myself

To hide in my own mind cave.

So I gather the last

Of my remaining strength

If it literally takes the life 

Out of my lungs,

So be it, I have to know,

What’s up there, because

Could it possibly be

Better than what it’s like down here?

My feet are weak, they cannot stand,

I kneel on knees, bent from bearing so much weight.

I peek out over the definitive edge

Of the counter top

And in the single reflective pane,

I finally see a face.

The view from down here

Is unassuming,

But it’s usually all I see

Hunched over the toilet,

Lying facedown,

Falling through those stupid tiles.

But unassuming perhaps because

It’s impossible to know

What’s going on inside the broken skull

With its broken thoughts

And broken feelings.

Unassuming perhaps, but even so,

Never assume you know what it’s like

To be inside this cracked skull

This cracked skin

This cracked heart

This cracked person

Unless you’ve spent the same amount of time

In the same spot

Of the same rock bottom,

The same dead tiles

That make up the view 

From this wretched bathroom floor.