Desiccation

All I can do

is sleep —

every second,

every day

away.

Awash is the feeling:

a river running cold, silk

down my back.

//

It's always sudden —

a jolt to wide awake,

aware

of every

single

mistake.

Green is the feeling:

water rising to my knees.

//

I run everyday,

now.

Grand voyages clouding

each

escapade. — a secret?

My body

is stilled.

Stuck is the feeling:

it churns the curdled

river anew.

//

Its all I can do

without you —

swallow myself empty

in gray

days. Wallow

in something

missing.

Lost is the feeling:

oceans of stomach acid

upwelling.

//

There is no

positive ending —

no poetic

noose

to curtail

grieving.

Left is the feeling:

standing desiccated against

rivers, alone.