The book I’m writing is loosely based on this poem.
A sink and a steamy bathroom mirror
Hands dripping guilt
Down drains full of secrets
And past indiscretions
Note to self: Pick up more Drano

Light bulb flickering
Taunting me with resolution
Night time knocking on the window
Staring at my back
These hands
Psychotic extensions of my lack of will
Skin under my fingernails
Your scent just under my nose
My middle earth still quaking from
A stolen orgasm
I keep telling myself that
The last time
The last time
But these hands
Don’t listen
Washing themselves in a tainted sink
Knowing full well
Unresolved intentions
Lead to repeat offenders




A stranger’s cum
Peels from lead pipes
Traces of poison in the water
Note to self: Pick up more Drano

Skin raw from scrubbing
The smell of infidelity
Like beads glued to my palm
Lies backed up in the sink
Thick as persecution stones
Never meant to be given
Only thrown

A train headed somewhere far from here
Shakes an unsteady rail nearby
A bubble pops in the clogged drain
A stench like weak alibis lingers
Several faces appear in my reflection
None of which look like myself
Fingertips ache from forcing
Confusion down a congested pipe
A scream of disgust
That stretches beyond these bathroom walls
A melody that sings with no remorse
Note to self: Pick up more Drano

-Dew, Solitude (2011)

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