Saw dust
In my mouth
Sandpaper tongue
Face pulled back so tight that I
Find it difficult to breathe
And water, so pure
So clean and bright
It beckons
I need water, my soul begs
For that which soothes my dry and burning lips
That rage with fire when I pull the glass away
And inhale its frozen, arctic winds
The feeling of white snow
That kisses the palms of my hands
Melting
Funny, it does not taste as water should
Not as beautiful as I remember
Not as slow
As it slides down my throat
Lacks the patience to spread throughout my chest
And fill my shriveled lungs
To cool the blood that pulses hot
Like the sun against my barren, desert skin
No longer does it bring a chill to my soul
But instead leaves a burden on my empty stomach
A block of the darkest and coldest ice
That sits inside of me to freeze
My dull brain
And my throat screams in protest as I take another,
Bigger gulp
That threatens to burst my neck open at the seams,
But still I swallow, because I must
And leave the glass in the sink,
Half empty,
Almost empty
And turn the faucet on.