I am sitting here, in a bathtub.
Strip your bra, your underwear, your skin slowly, very slowly, so that it hurts less. No, not death. Imagination, the liquid. Step into it. Now, concentrate. Peel your skin off. Close your eyes and you will see clearer, an existence where there's nothing but a soul.
Claim your momentary healing. Raise your hands, learn from the turtle. Now, sway. Sway darling sway, and turn, turn, turn! Twirl round and round, giggle and break.
Oh, I know, in another minute you will return to your mystic world, of pain or pleasure, perhaps both. I will not know your story anymore and I don't want to. But, here's imagination, the liquid. Peace and healing. Healing and peace. Step in and soak yourself. You are more than a gender, religion, caste. You are more than an abusive evening, scattered body parts, bread and butter. You are unique and ordinary, like the crackling of wood in fire. You are earthly, you survive and give up. I will not know your story. Yet, I see your naked soul, a rabbit, racing down the crowded lanes, panting, shaking, running past generations, racing down the gorges into the bed of a bathtub.
I am sitting here, in the bathtub.