Showering
Drowned in darkness, designed isolation
Icy knives assault my back
Descending to the iron floor
With a gentle pitter-pat
Where like soldier ants they march
Towards some home-called, destined hole
Bearing up upon their backs
Discarded filfth and aged happiness
Purged of being and
Such existence drained
A man stands taller
To face the same assaults
So that he might drown himself again
poem by Matt Greenblatt
Added by Poetry Lover
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