Wasteland

I promise myself water, I promise myself air.

Each evening I repeat these pledges.

Each morning I choose a new war to declare.

It would have been fine if I were not rough around the edges.

But the water tastes like wine

And there are vines in my hair…

I capitulate, I give in whenever desire speaks.

How could I ever fight it?

Self-sabotage fills all my empty needs.

I swim in dead violets.

One can live in the wasteland, baby, but not for free.

All stays crooked even when I rewrite it,

All stays perished no matter how many times I plant seeds.

-JW