what is true, old, faithful

in a small room arranged to accommodate
it feels bare
sterile
smells of toast-playdough-ink-sweat-bleach

i can run away
if i choose
disappear
fade,
away from all
of it
of them
of me

though,
if  i dive
into the warm
soothing
deep
nothing
remained in the deep crevasse
etched smooth
hardened
water ebbing against every future thought

old and faithful

nothing would disappear
nothing would really
fade

in a small room arranged to accommodate
it is bare