Empty

I. Feel. Empty.  Like a jug that once held water, now dry and cracking from the heat. Moaning on the floor for just one drop of water.  Of oil.  Anything, please, oh God, I’m begging.   Every crevice screams for hydration but to no avail.
My life flows and ebbs from one day to the next.  An endless repetition; my mind delights itself in possible horrors, wanting to have anything to wake me up from this death-slumber.
I am like a piece of clay left out way too long in the sun.  Certain parts of me are dryer than others.  Certain parts are dying and decaying.  All of me is withering away.  I can’t breathe.  Each attempt scours my throat, dries my tongue, blows one more lungful into my already swollen brain.  There is such pain in deadness.  There is such despair in darkness.  So long, so long.  And when can I come home?
What can I do to again live?  Tell me!  Where is that water that I can drink from?  Where can I feel that cool liquid dripping down the corners of my soul, oh pit-less body of mine!  Damn the day you chose death.   Damn the day you chose to fatten yourself with food, with drink, with lust and with hate.  I curse each day you chose to walk those paths.  Each step wandering further and further away from those glistening gates.
The Sun is scorching me.  My skin is protesting every movement.  My heart is wallowing in fear. I am lost.  Oh Jesus.  Sweet Jesus.  How do I get back?

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