sensory

insane drain... the drip has just dropped and the plink on the sink is enough to drive me mad. but to walk across the room to fix it seems like wasted exertion. my drink was drank and now i'm bled dry. you'd think the quick beat that moves the life from heart to toes and up my spine would take less time, but i'm hemorrhaging thought out my ear everytime you cause me to question.

but i beg of you to fulfill the need of me.

i'm crumbling. the parchment upon which i wrote my last lines has been burned, for lack of water to quench the flames. but i will still lay with my words and coax them to open their eyes. there's a leaky pen between me and my next turned phrase, and when all the drops seep out we'll see what remains.

blink and you'll find it.