I get to the bathroom and hide
under my breath in the undershirt
behind the soap dish where ever
the asbestos and bacteria
drink I take an alleyway
somehwere inside and connect to
electric cords acting as the conductors
I vibrate and vibrate and listen
there is a voice under my breath and
I do not know if I can trust it, my ears
still listen to the radio and they toilet
spins I gasp out and wipe and run to
the sink wash my hands I pass a mirror
is that the voice's face, looks pale, older
than it sounds, staring back at me is the fear of
life, so I wash my face, and my hands
what happens when soap gets dirty???
May I tell you I might be sick and what would
you do if there was a nervousness
told you to just blindly run with it?
My poem
Getting Out (A Poem Thing)
