and my stringy hair sticks from my head as if it is not mine and it

attaches itself to my face where it walks like the soap suds that have

blinded me and then took my eye's oil painted colors with them as they

slide form my paling cheeks like they were once roses or had belonged

to a cherub which i never was. my mouth is full of spit which i empty

into the deep porcelain sink with a satisfying, atoning noise, the best

that my impetus of a tongue can create. my lips are gone with the wash

water as my eyes are black brown runny stream-rivers and my skin is fading.

my colorless face my eyeless mouthless blank face shines as if it were

a star in the lonesome darkened midnight empty sky above the prairie

plains.

i have washed away the world. I am no one.