dream bathroom

i am a collector of locked doors.
sometimes when things are bad
i just lay on the bathroom floor & convene with
the mold blooms above the shower.
wait for the isopods to arrive from
the grimy seam between the tub & floor.
they hold prayer books. i scroll on my phone
until my eyes are cradle-bound 
& violet. i try to imagine the bathroom
growing taller. a great chimney 
right into the clouds. i turn on the shower
to fill the place with mist. i know
that's why there's mold. the drain gnats
ask why i am always so sad. i don't try
to explain it to them. instead i hand them
my phone & let them scroll. the throat
of the toilet is full of sharks. the mirror
above the sink is so full of ghosts 
i am often scared it might burst. i don't
actually think my secrets are even that shiny.
nothing that would shake the earth. but they
are sometimes all i have. i wrap them in 
old newspaper like thrift shop figurines. 
set them on the edge of the sink. they tell me,
"we could dig deeper." they say, 
"a bathroom life." i couldn't agree more. 
i don't even care that i can't fully extend my legs. 
i look at the wobbly knob. its twisted
tooth. have nightmares that it falls out
& an eye peers through. i don't know
what i am hiding from. sometimes you wait
for a self to pass you by. an inconvenient self
or one without any gills. i finish my time
by singing with the pill bugs. i keep my voice
low & soft just like theirs.