Running Dry

Fickle Trickle Little game, the clear constant sound

Feeding me enough to survive, but not enough to fill me.

Your flow so subtle, so controlled

Feels like a world between you hitting my surface

Refusing to give up your distance, Refusing to give up your space.

This shell not made just for a tickle, but made to without all your weight.

Leave me dry if you won’t use me as intended.

Slowly turn the silver until silence is all there is.

I'll learn to fill the void purely with air,

Air

Air that feels empty… quiet… but never absent, never away.