I'm afraid of running out.
Out of words.
Out of thoughts.
Out of life.
Like a river so full and flowing
being dried up by the ravishing sun
of a summer drought.
Left to be nothing,
but a dusty cracked surface.
The life in me is evaporating
can't you see?
My soul so withering and parched.
I'm fading into my surroundings
and being succumbed to my only fear.
I'm running out of words
thoughts
life.
soon to be
nothing.

"I don’t get it", it’s not a poetic phrase, and certainly not any insight to my abstract mind. It doesn’t represent any of the words I was trying to lay on the page, but is a perfect insight of how all of those words ended with dark scribblings marked over any of the slightest potential. It’s made up of uncertainty and weariness, but does not run strict to the grain. Its the result of biting my tongue a hundred times, while letting the river of your voice drown out every last inch of drought in the desert of my mind. But I should know that new foliage can never grow when nourished with polluted water.

We are in the same car, yet hundreds of miles away, as if I never took the journey at all. The smoke in my mind is building, altering what beautiful thoughts used to unravel as if another universe was living with in me. Now I pass an empty stare past your silhouette straight out the passenger side window. Drowning in silence as I can’t find the words to tell you, and understanding you might not care. And I can feel my lungs burning because I want to tell you these thoughts I have at 3 in the morning and the thoughts I have in the middle of the day and how they are all wrong. But I can’t, so I will slowly smolder till I’m gone.