Water

I feel sick with it. Sometimes it’s a big empty whole, sometimes the whole fills with a nausiating meloncholy substance formed of some vile nostalgia. My eyes see only ugliness. A waste land. And my body crawls across it’s filth. Motivated by someone else’s idea of hope. To reach what? perhaps another minute, or better yet a minute left behind. Another moment of agony I’ve put behind me. There are moments of another nature however. I’d say the suffering isn’t worth them, but what the hell. Water is so much better when your thirsty.