The water didn't even get warm

The water didn't even get warm.

I stepped out onto the cracked tile

and grabbed the towel from the hook.

It hit my face with the scent of a basement,

that sharp, sour rot of things left wet.

I looked at the hem of the shower curtain.

The black stippling is spreading in the folds,

a map of every day I didn't clean.

I’m breathing in the spores

and wondering how long it takes

for the house to just give up on me.