aimlessly reaching for it
not quite grasping the meaning
of what it is as it’s slipping
through my needy fingers
the texture is lazy
slithering beneath my sad nails
planting itself in the dirt
that i was too pathetic to clean
claiming itself a flower
but y would a flower make me cry?
leaving me wet, rabid, reaching
still aching for the slightest hint of it
like an addiction scratching at it
trapped in inevitable incomprehension