My well is so empty
So dry
I lower my bucket down into the darkness of its belly, my hands chafing and rubbing against the rope. I hear the metallic clang as it hits the hard bottom. Dutifully, I raise it again,
hoping,
but there is nothing.
It is empty.
I feel so empty too. Like the well, like the little silver bucket that attaches itself so earnestly to the rope, ready to go down to the deepest depths and bring me just a tiny bit of sustenance.
But there is none.
The well is dry, the bucket is empty, my tongue is sandpaper, my throat a cracked and pot-hole riddled slide down into my belly where darkness fills me up.
Fill me up then, darkness. Strip me of my cloths. Let me bathe naked and unabashed under your gaze.
Let me lie here in your shadows
Leave me be for now
Healing comes after the dawn, I know
But in you, I am made whole
In Between Days 