Falling Water

Crying, for the first time in months,

Staring at the cold shower wall

And the silver levers,

Wondering why it all looks so flat,

So fake, this can't be real,

I can see the water falling,

I can watch my own reflection in the chrome;

But the drops all fall in the same line,

Moving too fast to notice the individual tears,

Too distant to fully pay mind to the running water.

I can feel it hit my skin,

As it beads down my arms,

Rolls over my chest,

But I’m not…or I am not in relation to this moment, to this perception.

Somewhere between my cornea and the back of my brain,

Something is disconnected, misfiring, the signal is not clear,

Not in the slightest.

My movements are not my own, my thoughts dart in and out,

Often from places I can't put my finger on;

I realize I've been drifting off, only to not know where to,

Or where that thought had surfaced from, the one that is still hazy.

Did I dream about that the other night?

Was that part of the mental tangent?

A clip from somewhere?

And there I go, getting lost again.