And still I write

and still I write

bare boned, bleached out
my words, like buckets
descending
into my well
pouring water at the mouths of rivers
until
the vessel is spent

and still I write

scooping
unrelenting
digging
my words tunneling through my body
hauling stone weighted emotions
to my surfaces
Honesty cracking me open

and still I write

raw and unending
my words, like cicadas
released from the sky
descending into my fields
drowning my being
in a cacophony
eaten desolate

and still I write

---