My mind cries out a song.

A song of sorrow,

weighed down

by a liquid heaviness

that threatens to absorb my soul.

Head upon pillow,


I lie in my

emotional puddle,

fearful of going under.

My very being

remains saturated.

Saturated by pain,

soaked in sadness,

warped by weariness,

till hope sits wrinkled

like a child, too long in it's bath.

No drought could ever begin

to leave me arid and thirsting.

Not when rains continue in flooding pace

and a river courses along my cheeks.

Not with reservoirs so full

and spilling their banks.

And the ever burning sun does nothing to dry.

It only heats my waters to boiling

and scars my flesh, blistering.

Immersed in my fluid state,

saturated by torrential pains,

I know it won't be long,

before I submerge

and sink into its murky depths.

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