without waiting for it to heat,
without checking the temperature.
The water hails down,
hammers my scalp, my shoulders, my spine,
trying to beat me clean.
I listen to the water pound against marble
while staring at the tile in front of me,
at the crack in the grout,
at the drop racing down the wall.
I watch it
like it’s the only thing left alive in my world.
My vision blurs.
I don’t move.
I stand there.
Blinking.
Blurring.
18 /UNDER PRESSURE
QUEEN
// NOV 11, 7:58 PM - SOUNDWAVE RECORDS - MIDTOWN, NYC //
At this hour, Soundwave’s quiet.
I step off the elevator,
my sneakers squeaking against glossy tile.
City lights pour through the glass,
carving shadows into the dark.
I don’t touch the lights.
I like it better this way?—
dark, cold, and Raymond-free.
When I reach my office,
I drop my bag,
sink into the chair,
