water-logged

sopping up the dribble,

hands and feet, fretting

over every drop, its stain

on the floor, its presence

made known, my facade

revealed.

my heart hangs her head.

“fraud”

“charlatan”

“copy-cat”

“fake”

words graffitied on my walls

time marked in synonyms etched into my floors

the waterline a dado rail

I trudge through the muck

pulling my water-logged bones to an old cracked door.

eyes fixed on the glimmer peaking through the gaps

muscles screaming,

the mire grabbing at my feet,

the

strain sucking the air from my lungs.

I close my hand around the knob pulling it

against the

rising tide,

the force of it breaking the door, shards splintering and

flowing out as the waters recede.