Repress, Disaster Alike, Don’t You 5/5 (1)

I can’t remember
what was written on that
chipped chalk ceiling,
but it must have meant something,
because I couldn’t look away.

The fluorescent light wavered,
like it was grieving
something lost.

The scent of the aloe vera hand soap
repulsed me,
punctured me;
my knees giving out.

The rancid pink
of the aluminum stall
against sharpied text,
disturbingly vivid,
and so

I just wish I could remember,
what I said
and what I didn’t.

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