Stream Of Consciousness #1 (Warning for adult subject matter.) That night, I turned the heat on the shower up as high as I could possibly bear it, and then a little more, 'cause I figured I might as well get used to the scalding touch of Hell in the only way I could -after all, I knew that even lustful flames wouldn't kiss a thing like me. I looked up from where I sat, coiled up by the drain, to the shower head glowering down at me, every pore like the faces of everyone I'd ever disappointed, disgraced, or disgusted, all at once staring down in disdain: spitting their burning hate at me. What little, pitiful excuse for self-confidence that I had smeared across my skin like the make-believe facade that it was began to crack and peel and I watched as it washed away and wished that I'd waste away, too; get whisked away, dragged down that drain pipe along with the dirt, just drown or disappear, I didn't care, it didn't matter, as long as I was gone. I was sick to death of my days being made up of starless darkness and almost-sunrises, so I decided to engrave forever onto my body my own bright red horizons.