I will start anew

Every time

I fail to be true to what I want to say

How I want to say it

And whether it’s the truest I can be

I’ve been faltering far too much at the usually-simple act of writing

A certain feeling is missing

Possibly the one bridging the metal construct of my mind

With the concrete mixture of my heart

Whatever it is that I’m lacking

Is starting to hollow me out

Sense of purpose, concept, self-connect

Whatever it might be

I hope and now

I can only hope

That it restores itself into place

Before I uproot myself from the lack of release

And set the wooden carcass on fire



2 thoughts on “Drought

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