the bathroom

You take my words like you take the sound of a fan.

You take my words as white noise bleeding back into the background.

That's how you take them as you sit on a cold tiled bathroom floor.

I’ll beg in my own nervous sarcastic tone, but no matter what you won't come out.

God, please come out of the bathroom.

The bathroom you’ve locked yourself in, with a scissor in your hand.

The same scissors I've tried to hide away from you desperately

Gagging out your pain as I awkwardly laugh from outside the bathroom with tears in my eyes.

You take my cries and brush them off.

You're hurting, and you're taking me down with you.

You're like a drowning diver.

And I'm the one trying to save you.

I'm also drowning, unable to help me or you.

it's not your fault I started drowning.

But you're falling faster than me pulling me by the ankle, 

helping me sink to the bottom with you.

I could try to swim to the top, but if I did I would just blend into the other fans begging you to stop.