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Rated: 13+ · Poetry · Relationship · #2168057
observing a stained ego sulk about its bathroom
In the mirror I watch the cruelly wrought lead statue with sunken eyes and a crescent-moon-smile bend away from the running faucet. “What a poorly tasted sculptor..” I think as I criticize the beast’s ineloquently pounded features. It looks more like a junk yard’s attempt at a Halloween decoration than a fine piece of art. Her emerald-green eye-lasers certainly made no effort of hacking out functioning feet- the pile of metal toppled, slamming into the door and crushing the porcelain tile floor in a clamorous ruckus. “Jesus Christ! What the hell is wrong with this abomination? First he leaves the water running (the drought is a serious issue, you know), and now he’s clapping doors shut at 4am? Waking up the entire apartment complex?”

The geyser continues to erupt into the sink. The air is heavy now, but for some reason it doesn’t affect the beast’s ability to breathe. Hot, wet things begin to condense under his eye holes, and the stony nature of his face allow them to flow quite freely. As the rest of the world’s water supply is sucked through this San Diego faucet, I conclude that this figure must be a rough draft for one of her future masterpieces.
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