Bare feet catch the damp smack

Bare feet catch the damp smack,

a towel sprawled on cracked tile,

damp as regrets left to dry

where no one cares to look.

Its edges curl like forgotten words,

soft fibers pressed flat

by the weight of another missed turn —

a small mess ignored in morning’s rush.

The mirror fogs, breath clouds,

and beneath, the cold floor reminds me

how close neglect can feel,

a dampness held just long enough

to settle in the skin.