Bathroom Floor

The bathroom floor’s coldness comforts in light of the surrounding chill. The crackled ceiling above possesses a soft spot for a spider Just like in the children’s song. Still these seemingly harmless Arachnoids precede Future generations that one day will farm the last remaining mammals, (mousy creatures) like we raise cattle. Tying them up Paralyzing them with fear Then having their way with the poor creatures… I need to lie down. Now, thinking of the knot in my stomach begging for mercy with a voice heretofore unheard, I circle back to how I came to be there in the first place. Walked in of my own volition. Took the bait. Was had. I am my own worst enemy. “Classic underachiever.” I am close to losing it on the bathroom floor, whatever I have left of it… Time to find the humor in the Master Plan – think deep, ominous voice as “Master Plan” gets annunciated. The voice of god. Imagine her, the one disordered with narcissism, standing above you, the spider has come down to my level and is crawling along the bathroom floor. Now with her heal, big as the moon, just itching to crush, for no other reason than she can she raises her foot I scream my song silently: “The itsy bitsy spider." Many children step on bugs. She begged for mercy – Please don’t kill it mommy!– as the shoe came down on her spider. (How did I get here?) Her future rests on the bathroom floor. And I wonder: What have I done?