Shower Scene

There was a time
believe it or not
when I was eighteen.
The showers weren't as long then
since the dirt, sweat, and failure of construction
had yet to be encountered.
Sometimes they were just as miserable, though.

Like when I blew my nose in my hand
and saw thick strands of bright, oxygen-rich blood;
my Achilles Heel, at my most vulnerable naked moment.
I became light-headed
believe it or not
put my hand against the tile wall to steady myself
and kneeled down in the tub.
The water splashing against my back
was colder than it had been while I was standing.
It was the first time I noticed that phenomenon.

The steam swirled around my dizzy head
as the blood ran down over my lips and dripped off my chin
forming crimson rivulets in the drainward flow.
Dinner came back up with that gruesome sight
and joined in the exodus of my bodily fluids.
I closed my eyes and bent over as far as I could until
my forehead hit the warm white bottom.

Some days I feel like I never got back up.