To the wellspring
I ask,
“Where are you?”

As I pour out my last drops,
My last ounce to offer.
I give it willingly
To those who have forgotten the taste of water.
As I drain myself
Of all I have to share,
Now, I too join in thirst.

To the wellspring
I ask,
“Where are you?”

I feel like I'm drowning
no
not drowning
drowning comes with resistance.
I am sinking to the bottom of the ocean
my every thought is a stone in my pocket
my mind treads ever forward though it knows I will not float
it doesn't care
It is only after my head dips below the surface that I start to realize the severity of what I cannot undo
I open my mouth to ask for help
but instead, my regurgitated words bubble out of my lungs and float away
and I'm distracted by the beauty of the scene
isn't that so like a poet?
so engulfed in the romanticization of my death that I pick up the shovel
and I dig the grave myself
so distracted with the view
I can't force out the words I need
I won't betray those stones in my pocket,
Can't give them away
But then again, what have they ever done for me?

My trembling fingers are losing grip
Any moment now they’d slip
But what’s the point in holding on
If my heart isn’t quite that strong

My broken eyes can hardly see
The shaking ground right beneath me
But what’s the point in waiting more
If the ending’s just the same as before