Bathrooms became sanctuary in high school;
with tear stained countertops,
gossip soaked walls.
Even the constipated souls
had motion.

Pressing their hands against the ceramic demilune sinks
they would let their tears flow like water through the faucet,  
until they found comfort in the arms of another.

Hours spent before, between and after classes
they found comfort and friends
in the conversation that flowed in the bathroom.

Checking themselves over and over again
with the reassuring voices, “you look great” from behind.
Some walk in and hide behind the door of the lavatory stalls,
flushing away sadness,
and washing on a smile on to their face.

Like the granite in the slabs, the memories made
will will be hard to wear off.

Condensation drawing,
On mirror, one morning,
What I saw, blew mind
Made me turn, look behind

There stood, with a knife
At the throat, of wife
Her screams, all could hear
My heart, burst with fear

With panic, in my chest
Took swing, for the best
caught hard, in the face
Knife dropped, grasp, race

Me first, knife, mess
Him blood, life less
Wife safe, me shocked
Bathroom exit, door locked

I am a simple man –
I still enjoy the lost art of
washing your hands before and after
using the bathroom,
I find courage in the occasionally tap on the back,
when everything goes dark,
and the back alley looks like a modern piece of art.
I try not to live the same day over and over again, but,
somehow, I end up making the same mistakes,
closing all the doors that are left open
for me.
I’m never early to a party.
I’m never late, either. I just don’t get invited anymore.
When I was little, I was mesmerized
by the choir of voices in my head –
now I’m just irritated by their meaningless noise.
The 4 rooms seem smaller and things are moving like crazy –
it’s like an earthquake inside this heart of mine
that’s behaving from time to time
like a lady with high heels and low standards.

I am a simple man –
I manage to complicate everything
in the simplest way.

How long should I sit here and pretend that I haven't wanted to end it for 17 years?
How long should I say 'I'm good' when I was just crying the bathroom ten minutes ago?
How long should I stare in the mirror and say 'Maybe I'll cut my hair tomorrow' knowing deep down I won't go for the next six months.
How long should I avoid the inevitable?
How long is too long?
How long can I look at this world, this society, and think that this is the type of world I want to live in?

I love my sister dearly
she lives with me at home
She helps me with the stress of life
so I don't have to on my own

She parts clouds
Makes the sky blue
Then to ease my pain more
adds a soft cloud or two

She's building a beautiful garden
filled with hollihocks, foxgloves and such
It has an outdoor bathroom
that I will enjoy very much

She helps keep me grounded
my feet firmly on the ground
Keeps the dark clouds away
While to my life I'm bound

Stink bugs sit on the toilet seat

Their fat bodies hide in the shadow cast by a bar of soap

Thumping against the mirror, the light bulb

Hiding in cabinets

Waiting for me, dead on counters