I sat, soaking in a basin of delirium. My mind spinning into a whirlwind of ineffable pain. And for the time being, my world was silent. It had ceased to continue into the insensitive notion that "It goes on." My body, engulfed in fifty percent bath water, fifty percent tears, layed heavy against the bosom of the basin, home to my lowest points, keeper of every falling crimson cell, beholder of the nights when vodka took the place of water inside my beaten organs. My fingers raced along the horizon of the water, cutting keenly through the top, diving under, and running along the nape of my neck, until my fingertips nestled themselves into a gentle embrace, clutching my esophegous, and ripping my head under the sheets of water.
My lungs flushed, and my feet kicked, as if i had just been pulled from a womb, to which is now smothered in lies, my body numbed, the delirium in which i resided twisted itself into millions of brilliant and prismatic hues, which were soon running from the darkness of my night that consisted of much more than poor visibility, it is then that it came to me. I cannot drown my demons. They know how to swim