I can’t remember
what was written on that
chipped chalk ceiling,
but it must have meant something,
because I couldn’t look away.
The fluorescent light wavered,
fading,
like it was grieving
something lost.
The scent of the aloe vera hand soap
repulsed me,
punctured me;
my knees giving out.
The rancid pink
of the aluminum stall
against sharpied text,
disturbingly vivid,
and so
forced.
I just wish I could remember,
what I said
and what I didn’t.