Karissa Satchwell Small Deaths

last night
the shampoo committed suicide

out from my hands
slapping the floor

splattering remains on ugly pink tile
on my strange face as i stood

i just stood there swallowing bubblegum spit
swallowing air from those hours gone unfed
always on purpose, always a lied accident

it was my heart on the tile spilled

it was smooth and pale
smelling of something citrus
and in the cracks below
below there by my toes and sore feet

it was spilling sentences or a drawing
knowing how cold that room can get
with windows open, like a lighthouse shining semi-clear

wondering if you can sense a dilemma
any excuse mustered to pull you here