7:09 pm 5/25/17

with the brook dried up,
your disquieting
sense of how you wanted
all these things to last forever
seemed to be extremely bleak.
after your eight hour shift
you visit.
hear nothing but grinding of water mills.
and you wanted to know;
if i were to be drowned here alone
would they find me or care to find me
in the dry banks of the brook?
you are a mysticist when it comes
to death
***
alcohol.
it didn't quite make sense why
you drifted chimerically into insanity
unable to stop the body from
coincidentally smashing into a stone
bludgeoning the skull. killing from
brute
force.

you more often thought about
drowning in the brook than admiring
it's whitewater beauty. you
more often broke yourself down at its
banks and thought the water was your blood.

with the brook dried up,
this place isn't real anymore.
you are not bleeding streams
you are again
a dry bank
empty and soulless.
somehow you were disappointed;
you were healed but empty.