Warped Petals

The water cut cold—silence slapped

against peeling paint,

a crooked ring holding up the curtain.

Blue flowers faded to blue-smudge,

plastic ripples warped by droplets

that slid slow, dripping like tired breaths.

Light flickered—bulb on last gasp—

distorted shapes folded, spilled across the stall

like something breathing under skin.

I stood, still as dripping noise,

wondering if water remembers heat,

if the cracked ring might hold one more day,

if the pattern would stretch

or tear, or simply drown

beneath the slow flood of cold.