Drought

I get the feeling I’m unwanted from almost every part of myself. I walk into a room and my own reflection greets me with silence – a silent inner agony – “oh fuck you again? I thought I cut you loose” cos its my face on every stranger and I cannot stand the sight or scent for my own skin bores me and I need a life outside myself
See me when I need it but then strangers turn their backs – only need me when they’re empty and tell me twice to fill them up. But what about the cracks in me? When I am parched and dehydrated from the heat of all their suns where will they be as I cry outside the walls of all their wells
Water water everywhere but not a drop to think – to feel, to sip or nurse the part of me thats dying. The parts of me that are trying to be something worth the sacrifice. Something worth the ice of the dagger they deny me
But I can’t grow if my soil is dry and I can’t try if I’m denied because it fucking hurts to leave my house though the walls inside are closing. Am I going to die alone because my misery hates the taste and am I allowed to say I hate you for all the ways you broke my heart? Or should I swallow your apology like the pill that finds my mind, since it was lost in the drought you caused me when I pretended I was fine
I wish that you would find me, disengage or just unwind me but the fact is you’re the drain and all my madness has sank through you.