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Your nails are green. Your body is
pink. The tiles are white, and you
are alone. The water is hot and you
are sitting on the floor of the shower try-
ing to pee. It's not working. Not that it's
ever been a problem before, but your blad-
der stubbornly remains half full of piss after
thirty minutes of attempted expulsion. You
wonder if distracting yourself from the
problem at hand may aid in diminishing,
it. You're trying to sing something-any-
thing-and you're just sitting naked on the
floor of your shower in your old bedroom in
your mother's half empty, generally unin-
habited house in Michigan, rememberingall
those nights you did the same damn thing
and daydream about the days when every-
thing would get better. Those were the days.
The-ea ore the avs it blanentoeather soen-'-
never wanted to urinate so badly in your
entirelife.Andyoucan'ttellifit'sstage fright
or sadness or substances, but your bladder
simply refuses to release its liquid prisoner
and you suddenly feel bad for old men who
must have similar tribulations. It's a Friday
night, and if time has taught you anything,
you're never going to be this happy, or this
svelte, or this in love ever again. When you
were younger, you talked to God. You would
finish your homework, run upstairs, fuck
around on your phone for a little while, and
strip naked, slipping into the shower and
melting onto its floor. You'd sing something
until the words became indistinguishable
and then you'd look in the mirror, shift your
body forward so the water would drip down
your face, and you would talk to God. You
weren't even sure ifyou believed in God, but
you thought that maybe if you got the words
out, somehow they might prove their own
importance. And half of the time you would
feel like crying. And some of the time you
would. But you would talk. You'd tell God
about all the things you wish were different,
and hnw n really really really loved so-
please, please,
please, please,
please, please,
please, please,
please, please,
please, please,
please, please,
please," sud-
denly the word
had no meaning,
you would mispro-
nounce it, you would .
forget it ever existed.
Each letter seemed foreign
as it endlessly tumbled out of
mouth, and you would wonde
tell you had no idea what yo
anymore. You would wonder
even care if he/she/it did. You
being your own God. You wt
were just talking to yourse
dered if maybe dead relative
ing in and learning about yt
begged something-anythin
it. Sometimes you would lay
your ass 'overine- the drain,