Written by Jacob Ibrag
He stood still in the shower, eyes closed.
This was the only time to reflect, to re-evaluate.
Beyond these four walls, control went out the
window. No rush to leave just yet. This was his
fortress of solitude. The only voice that mattered
right now was his. No nonsensical parody of a
civilization here. This was the birth place of almost
every single idea he’s ever had. These idea’s still
in their purest state. These idea’s still his. It was
when he carried them outside the door, these
idea’s remained no more. The landscape changes
and his mind gets wasted from all the cries of
political correctness. This wasn’t a world for the
thinking. As long as he stood still in this hot steam,
anything was possible. State of harmonious perfection.
For at least ten minutes a day, he cleaned the world
of its filth. Eventually, people leave their minds
and rejoin reality. We get dirty from all corners,
joining the party. We partake, break the hopes
of others. Backs break from the weight of each
other. It’s when the clean seems foreign, it all
goes to black. You cease to breath and adopt the
function of a rock. Unmoving, cold and stagnant.
We get where we need to be, somehow. Jump in
the shower, wash it all till it’s gone. Tomorrow
is another day. Renew. Replay.
Painting by Alyssa Monks