It's silent as the rest of my housemates sleep. I feel sick, sick, sick as I lay in the bath. The water is cooling but my skin is red. My palms are stained Crimson but it's not something I can't comprehend. I feel like I'm drowning, like the nausea in the pit of my stomach is my soul. My entire being.
The indents of my arms are pink and I'm confused. Confused because I can't breathe but the water is nowhere near my face. I feel consumed by a weight numerous times heavier than the droplets dripping down my chest.
The shower is running but I am sitting. Sitting and staring at the molded tiles.
That's it. My universe. My purpose. The cogs in my brain are turning a million miles a minute as the scalding water feels nothing more than lukewarm.
My hair drips, drips, drips onto the porcelain of the tub but my skin stays pink. It stays pink red and blue long after the nozzle is turned and the water is off. Stays these colours even as I curl up in a ball, hoping the air doesn't suffocate me as I think. The mirror shows tired eyes, pink and blue around the edges. Blue as my veins taunt me, throb throb throbbing under my skin, untouchable.
The air is cold, but my skin is discoloured from the heat.
I've come to hate the colours pink, red and blue as the itching intensifies.
We're all destined to die anyway. There's no escape from fate. It's always there, looming.
Just like the colours pink, red, and blue