Drain

I do not know what left me here
The bathtub dry, but wet is me;
Neither clean nor planning to be.
Each grouted tile a grim reminder
Of time before when sleep
Was not dripping its slow torture.
Though what I hear from days
When I first first jumped in this shower,
There was very little dirt but much uncleanliness.
And though I still know not what has left me here,
Senseless, wet, bounded by tears
I am here, draining.

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