A sweet, intense longing spouts out from within me.
Pushing towards a purpose, and pouring to my validation.
It trickles down, hitting the ground, and I crumble to it.
Falling in the out pouring of mine own self. I am consumed. I am submerged in my own sense of destitution.
Drowning in a sense of emptiness, I am wet with broken promise and soaked in unfulfilled dreams.
I am my own hatred and my own discontent.
I lay immersed in myself, and I am longing.
I am wishing.
I am my memories.
I am mine own deprecation.