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…