Spinning Coins

When I close my eyes I feel small but big, i am everything and nothing. 

I can feel the rim of the water as it touches my lip, beneath, there is no oxygen, yet my second face lives

The tiles come to life, a barrage of demonic portraits move with the rolling of my eyes and Johnny sings hurt.

I do hurt. The many implements that parade my bathroom cabinet await fresh blood.

drip drop, tick tock into stagnant foam, I've been here too long

It's just a nick, not the vain, I couldn't, I wouldn't, not anymore for there is no more, no more blood just plasma that turns yellow, yellow like the cowards way.

Now they are all watching, the tiles on my bathroom wall, they mock me.

I rinse myself off and watch as the water swirls into dark drains, more of my dead cells, more of my atomic structure, more of my twisted prions for mammals to feed on.

I leave this damp bathroom, and so I liberate the space I once occupied.
Space is important for spinning coins, time and space for spinning coins. 

I drop to the floor, face up and far away in a distant box, he drops to the floor, face down.