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?