There’s tension, something unnamable. Covering the entire room with An air of strange yet familiar sensation, Like the trickling of the water foams Flushed down the urinal-- Cleansing off the bubbles of congruity Unspoken words wash away the noise Of the outside world, eerie silence, invited-- Walls, thickened with erratic heartbeats. Conversations are halted, words are omitted. The mirror reflected the same illusion None would welcome or dare to look at Tissue papers-- wiped away the false faces, Coy smiles exchanged through furtive glances, Indirect and reproachful--wasted on a bin. One pee after another mingled in the Pit of the wastes. One tried to make A connection, two turned down, three dismayed-- Three are of the same kind hidding beneath The skin of a makeshift world they belong to. However they alienate themselves from one another Certain thread link them as one— Inside the cubicle, Truth is the fiction flushed in the toilet bowl Turned to reality by their intertwined fallen pubic hair.