Think, blink, on the brink.
Inhale, exhale, both a chore.
Why try? I’m bone dry under black sky.
Can’t die because of small fry.
The grass is always greener somewhere else.
Brain, slow – slower still.
Every movement is uphill.
Pop a pill, screaming’s shrill, dreams unfulfilled. Salty tears spill.
There is no controlling the coming walls of waves
In the midst of hurricane in my brain.
Dry, wet, there’s no difference.
There exist no greener grasses.