my heart feels dull and barren
like a vast desert standing over rushing water
my calling is to drink and be filled
but still there I stand
quenched unpleasantly by my own routines,
I allow melancholy to make it's home on the rolling hills of my mind.
I am alive, but not living
life has only become a blur of dreams and broken bars too far to reach
over and over the plastic meadows whisper into my sand
and I hear them.
but I do not believe in their lies.
the desert inside of me is far too lazy to believe anything.
