Untitled 3

Unsure of this whole piece.

it's strange

hundreds of miles

from the place you've called 

home 

your whole life

 

and now

you're in a two star 

hotel room 

soaking in the 

bath 

and washing with their small 

bottles of 

shampoo 

the towels are as thin, 

uncomfortable on your skin and 

as bad at their jobs 

as you remember 

"this is life." you exclaim

for some reason 

(probably due to 

less-than-ideal 

upbringing) 

you prefer this 

everything 

is uncomfortable 

but it's far more welcoming 

the water of the bath is 

just below 

scorching

you claim that this is how you feel 

alive 

relaxed 

and half-tempted

to up the temperature 

to see how much you can deal with 

before it's intolerable

but that's not why you don't 

give in

you're afraid

more than you're willing to 

admit

that the cold water will be turned off

and the hot water 

will be all that is fueling what

you 

feel

and you wouldn't know a 

difference

and eventually all things would have 

no effect 

on you

that's why you 

don't do it

you don't want 

to know

it's already too much 

to know that this is all 

you're affected by

and all you can do 

is let silent tears fall 

and try to hold in that 

crushing breath 

you know all too well

"this is it," 

you gasp 

"this is life." 

it's both 

welcoming and 

uncomfortable