The deluge born of a faucet fills the forlorn depths of a forgotten bathtub. Tongues of boiling flames caress the naked skin of a drowning denizen, painful not in their heat, but searing the mind with memories of reddened flesh. An arm hangs limp in the air, suspended by the same force that keeps eyes focused on the macabre although disgust and fear rush rampant in the heart. An equal and opposite force enacts itself upon the bony monument; steam souls flit to the damp ceiling as liquid corpses roll from the body to the clear burning vat the arm protrudes from. A shed loss coagulates in the water. The arm falls post-contemplation with a gentle splash, displacing water and disrupting meditation. Dirty fingernails ignite, furiously clawing away the sin and soot and summative layers of crag scarred suicide. Scarcity of purity lays thinly dormant over this body--spread furtively, wishing for some avoidance of the fingernail typhoon, yet its steel blades scour with corruption. The nails sow seed steeped in self abhorrence, a malevolent marinade begetting an osmosing, seething self-loathing--perfectly mirroring the self-destruction of the man as the seed buries itself in porous flesh, decaying to its death, fertilizing disgust and discontent. As bone rejects skin, and marrow burns poison, a yearning mind wonders:  
 
What cleanliness is there when the purifying flames ignite from the roots of insidious hatred? Who am I to clean myself when my blood moves disgust? As I peel away these layers of grime and sin coating me, does the muck in my own soul coat my flesh? I want to be clean. The blazes in my heart, however, cannot be lessened by the infernos of experience.  
 
A voice echoes off the bathroom chamber walls--ashes to ashes, dust to dust.  ​

Kevin Cox is a sophomore majoring in English with a minor in Creative Writing, planning on pursuing an MFA in Creative Writing. He spends his time tutoring other students and probably a less-than healthy amount of reading. He has Tourette's and is very interested in discovering its hidden presence in literature.