Charity Whan

Like a Corpse

 

the shower beats down hard.
a death drum.
i curl into the porcelain,
skin flushed like meat,
heartbeat slow and dull.

 

my legs have gone numb.
the water climbs my back
like it’s trying to baptize me
or drown me,
i can’t tell which.
either would be a kindness.

 

pain doesn’t scream anymore.

it waits.
pulses in the spout,
hangs in the steam,
slips into the cracks of the tile.

 

i keep thinking someone
will pull back the curtain.
find me like this

days later,
eyes open,
steam slowly rising off my bones.