Cold Water

Cold Water
.
.

Save me, I'm about to faint.
I lift my hand to hold up the sky.
Not for the flag. Not because of hunger.

It's not the thirst.
It's my solitude surrounded by screams.
It's knowing  what motivates
my desire.

It's the fatigue of being a puppet.
My strings collapse
amid the beauty

and laughter of children.

I can't save myself.

I'm this crumbling, desperate country,
this unthinkable winter.
Water, who has a bottle 

of cold water 

for me to bathe in?