It’s official - I can be better friends with a toilet.
For something with veins made of steel that pump sewage it’s more human than those around me.
It has an instant cool touch that can tame the darkest soul. It greets me with a familiarity more comforting than my own flesh yet as distinct as a freckle.
The living corpses that are around me are less trustworthy than John Wilkes Booth, demanding to know my height, weight, skin color, financial status, education level, likes, dislikes, religion, love interest, and even my health issues…
They keep collecting my facts, but never learn my fiction.
This porcelain beauty lowers a seat with low expectations but understands even I have pain that I must flush.
Karl would like his English teacher from last year to know that his work, not hers, got published. He really couldn't care less if she's impressed with his work yet.