self portrait

She loses her breath in the shower when her head is submerged in water. It's like she drowns for a moment and in that moment her soul is etched across her face.

That's what happens when your body thinks it's dying. Your soul shows itself to whoever is there in the hope that someone can save it.

Her soul looks like broken hearts stitched up with mismatched coloured string, slowly stretching their way to coming undone. It makes me wonder why she fights so hard when the water stops her breath.

Those are the nights that her eyes look like Winter; grey and desolate and bone-piercingly cold. She clutches me in her sleep, twitching like a junkie and now I tell my coworkers that I bought a kitten. They've stopped asking about the scratches.

In the morning she will wake exhausted, the corpse of my devilish woman with her alcohol smile. In the evening she will drown again just to know the feeling of being alive.

I think she needs a hobby.