Deadlights in the Shower Drain

Deadlights in the Shower Drain

I haven’t slept since the last scream.
The tiles still echo things I’ve seen.
I blink and she’s back–head on wrong, smile too wide,
she hums the hook of a song I never survived.

I carved “LEAVE” in the steam again
but the mirror just spelled “STAY” with a grin.
My fingers bled but the drain just laughed
and the water ran red while she sang in my bath.

There’s deadlights in the shower drain,
singing sweet through the madness of pain.
I cracked somewhere between rinse and repeat.
Now she’s in my lungs, and I can’t breathe.

The ceiling drips with her perfume lies.
She counts down from ten every time I close my eyes.
My own voice whispers things I don’t know,
like “eat the soap” and “let her go.”

I chewed my tongue ’til the room went dim
but she painted my teeth in a Cheshire grin.
Now every scream tastes like rust and lace
and she’s got my mind hanging in her suitcase.

Deadlights in the shower drain,
laughing soft like they know my name.
Her footprints bloom in mold and bone,
and I’m never quite alone. Never quite alone.