The Bath
The darkest moments come when she’s in the bath,
…she sits there, waiting for them, staring into
The ignominious bathwater, so crystal clear,
Beckoning her head to sink into its cleansing purity,
The baptism of quiet bubbling death…
Black and shadowy, the demons float,
Just beneath the surface, their grotesque maws
Gaping at her from every little bubble, mocking, jeering,
Calling her down, down…down
Into the drowning deep, where she can see her face,
Her miserable hooded eyes, reflected in the
Impersonal white marble
Seduced, her bloodless lips part to inhale,
Drawing the liberating flow into her gullet,
Into her lungs, her poor, protesting choking lungs…
The demons caper and splash in delight, caressing her
With claws that feel silky smooth as water, as bubble bath…
They are just bubbles now…
Abruptly her jaw snaps shut, fear and fury sparking in hollow eyes,
She has been deluded, deceived…
Comprehension dawning in gasping waves, she jerks upright,
Emerging from the water like a mottled sea creature,
Hacking, retching, liquid death dribbling down her pallid chin
Foiled, the demons gurgle and howl as she reaches down,
Yanks out the plug, and watches them swirl away down the drain,
Just so much dirty bathwater…
Copyright © Amy Van De Casteele | Year Posted 2009
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