The rain of the water drowns out every other noise.
It pounds against the bottom of the tub viciously,
like wild emotions raging out and flinging at whatever they can reach.
I let the water run over me and absorb me, rather than absorbing it.
It soaks into my hair and wets my face.
My tears blending in.
My body aches with this heavy, thick, sadness.
Like a suffocating coat in a warm room.
My mind spikes out into a billion incoherent thoughts.
My mind pleads for more air.
The tears have become to frequent.
Writing about sadness is to regular.
It's all happening again.
My mind spikes again.
Incoherent muffled sobs.
Hot water fills the room with steam.
I am alone, but I don't completely feel like it.
I feel accompanied by my thoughts
Always ready to barge in and ruin things.
This is it.
This is me.
This is crying in the shower.