I sit and wait. Taking up space with my cold emptiness. The universe or a bad memory. You ignore me most of the time. Preferring her waist-high purity (sometimes even dipping Yourself in her, a porcelain quickie for a whore) and his debauched tastes. When you do finally turn to me for your relaxation, you wash me out before you use me. How am I the dirtiest of the three? You fill me and you fill me, until I almost overflow. You make me so dam hot I almost scald you when you drown your lifetime’s weight within me. The dirt you always accumulate unintentionally, a roughly soaped slough of skin, and sometimes your tears are all you bring to nourish me. When you are done you groan as you hulk your lazy, reddened, sweaty bulk out of me, stand there naked with your back to me, wipe yourself down and leave me alone to drain myself away as nothingness sighs into me again.