Flood

Exposed and vulnerable
I let the water beat down,
a pounding stampede in my brain,
little permeable pebbles
leaving red footprints on my brow.
I adjust the knob from hot to cold
and feel the burn turn to a sting.
They're both painful, my body aches;
I can't find a happy medium;
I can't find a happy anything.
My tears stream down my face,
lost in the rage, carried away.
Unable to catch my breath,
I'm overwhelmed by the force upon me,
it's holding me down
even though I'm still standing.
My heart is a fist in my chest,
thumping against my rib cage
with a relentless urgency
as though it's attempting to escape.
I leap backward
pressing myself against
the frigid surface of the shower wall,
shivering with an unexplainable fear
(fear I might live through this).
I let my head rest in my hands,
my legs crumble beneath me,
and the sobs echo against the tiles.
My voice is strangely real,
my agony finally breaking forth
and screaming to life.
The biting air creeps upon my moist skin
like a lewd intruder;
I am not safe here
in this crippled state,
a blubbering mess of a woman.
I wish I could kill her
but I feel her kicking inside
as I push myself off the floor
and thrust my head into the warmth
of another downpour.