The Bathroom

I found you upstairs—

Defeated in the bathroom,

Blown out and bloodied,

As if I stumbled upon

Some mass shooting.

On the heels of a death march

I dissect,

I question,

I dress the wounds.

You are martyred now,

Not like Saint Sebastian—

With his chivalrous cupidity,

But a snake, eating its own tail.

I slice the prism into a rainbow,

Splitting colors:

Red—the blood crevice

Where your dreams and fears leaked out.

Blue—the unwelcome stink of chemical obtrusion.

Black—the lack of humanity in your abuser’s eyes.

White—the shock of powder

Pressed.

Infected.

They cackle at me,

Little birds inscribed

In pillow cases.

I cannot confront this torture.

After you said you wanted to die,

I didn’t want to see you again.

I wanted to leave you lazy with lust,

You little, rotten baby.

Reveal your emphatic judgements.

Who are you?

I’m ready to ladle out

Meat and potatoes.

Where are its shoes?

Can it walk,

Can it talk,

Can it run?