This House Is Contaminated

Shaking off the dreams like a cat soaked in wine

Unable to make sense of the night before

Dragging the comb through the knots in my hair

Scraping at the thin layer of skin and dust

Fixed to my eroding skull

Dragging files to the trash

Clearing out space for the next thoughts,

The next dreams

The ones that come and go

I hold my head under the faucet

The filth is sucked down the pipes

I close my eyes when the mirror comes

The faded slander carved into bathroom walls

Recycled seat covers made out of tracing paper

The soap that comes in bags and smells like burnt plastic