the bubble bath

poetry

i held my breath underneath
the bubble bath.
the warmth that’s
caressing my skin
is something my soul
aches to once receive.

so i keep holding my breath
in hopes that the feeling would last,
and i dare not open my eyes
with fear of facing real life

because once i step out
i worry of slipping into a void,
hit my head and bleed out
— so senseless and cold.

then again,
fearful it is to stay in the water
it may bring me comfort for now,
but if i stay too long
i might as well freeze to death
once the bubbles pop
and my water cools down.

so i ask myself
through a gentle whisper:
which way of dying
would you prefer?

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2026.02.17. - mirella ౨ৎ