I pull the trigger
on the drain
when I just can’t take the heat
any more.
The sweat is streaming down my face
and the bath salts are making me woozy.
As the water slowly empties and I feel
the hard porcelain against my neckbone
and the weight
slowly returning to my limbs, my flesh
seems ready to slip off my bones and swirl
down the drain with the water
leaving me a perfect,
steaming skeleton.

I am pink
and new here, steaming in the warm glow
of the empty bathtub
and I sit for a moment
adjusting to gravity again,
being lazy and sore
and tired.
I feel my joints creak
and muscles moan
when I pull myself upright,
proof of my poor shape
and all the weight I’ve gained these
past few months-
my hanging belly and saggy
flanks.

Staring in the mirror I think
“Its not fair.”
Grasping at the crude handfuls of flesh and tugging
at my new size.
But it is entirely fair,
and I would do well to
remember it.

Lord knows, I
am covered in reminders
of one sort or
another.

But somehow, it is only here
in the foggy reflection
of the bathroom mirror
that I can see
the many signatures of sins
signed upon my skin.
Was it my own hand which
held that pen?