Confessions of a Bathroom Stall.

Ever wondered why people run to cry in a bathroom stall?

I am a bathroom stall and I’ve witnessed enough of this world to send my soft edges into rock-hard marble.

The other day, two lovers had vigorously at each other.
His hands exploring her physique, not in the least minding me.
Her hands trembled around the sideburns of his face,
Not as enthusiastic, not as dead-set.
A few grunts later, she tries to pull back, hold him in a gaze.
“I’m not ready.” she whispers “This doesn’t feel right.”
But for too long I’ve been a set of walls, and I know no girl wants to lose It in a bathroom stall.
I didn’t take it personally, oh no, not at all.
His eyes are cold, flash dangerously at hers. “You kept me waiting all this time to say no?”
“I…” she struggles for words, lets her hands drop to her side.
A moment of silence, he glowers, she stutters.
Under the pressure of his curled lips, she succumbs to his persuasion.

 

I am a bathroom stall and I’ve witnessed enough of this world to learn that catastrophe is irrelevant to the amount of space it happens in.

A few weeks ago the janitor was late and I had to endure a whole extra hour of blood splattered on my floor.
Sure, I’ve accomodated worse, but these splotches reflected the face of the girl whose veins once harbored them.
Because she stumbled in, vomited into my bowl, her tears landing with an audible splash.
Then, as swiftly as though it was a habit, she whipped out a razor blade and dug it into her skin.
Three long slashes.
An uncertain smile splits her face. She watches the streaks of red intensify like a shadow emerging from under the sea.
At the sound of footsteps, she pulls her sleeves further down but not before sparing it once last glance of satisfaction.

 

I am a bathroom stall and I’ve witnessed enough of this world to lock my own doors when no one’s looking.

Swear down he was a good boy, I’d overhear girls gushing over his biceps after every practice.
Little did they know his muscles were artificial, the makings of some pills.
Pills he’d gulp down every noon before practice, at his own will.
Because according to him, he needed the scholarship �" family couldn’t afford much.
So he turned to drugs, he turned to drugs.
Don’t know where he is now, hopefully out of here. But he left behind a pill that must’ve fallen out of its bottle.
Can’t tear my eyes off of it.

 

Yes, I am a bathroom stall and I’ve witnessed enough of this world to tell a girl I recently met to write a a few words about me.

�"Eiman. X

 

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the original "Confessions of a Bathroom Stall" piece is at:

Author's Note

I would LOVE to hear your opinion!!

Reviews

[Chris]

Many images float behind my eyes... sometimes mundane sets well between intensity?...Conversational echoes of reality...as well. Focusing on just strong emotion leaves little to differentiate the impact. - just me.

The write was a fair view presented with intent and not humor. I did miss the old KILROY was HERE graphic though.