The Weight of Water

In the stillness, the water hugs tight,

a bathtub full, cradling dreams every night.

The tiles wear the stains of thoughts left to linger,

as water spills whispers around my cold fingers.

This porcelain cradle, a harbor for grief,

where troubles dissolve, but the weight is a thief.

I sink in the silence, let currents embrace,

a moment of peace found in soft, empty space.

Yet the world presses down, like water on skin,

the burden of days leaks in, and I drown within.

Each droplet reflects all the chaos I flee,

in this bathtub sanctuary, I search for me.