My mouth is dry.

Drink.

I spoke all the words, though not necessarily of wisdom.
You respond with your patented silence.
And what little of my soul remains,
Seeps out from my pores to further stain the floor.

Drink.

Then, like a westerly wind you sweep through,
Temporarily rattling my leaves
Upsetting the rhythm of my heartbeat
And dividing the spoils of my treasures
Then everything turns calm.  Everything is dim.

Drink.

Somehow, you always avoid reaping what you sow
Nothing ever changes, be it from scream or whisper
So I salvage my belongings
And build a foundation that's at least stronger than before

Westerlies.

The mortar in the cracks of my heart soften and crumble at your feet
The crevices are just enough to slither your way inside
And like a termite, you devour all that's within
Do you have no conscience?
Are you pre-disposed to destroy?

My mouth is dry.

My mouth is unfathomably dry.

*Drink.