THE LAST DROP
(In A Despondent Mood)
Sakha the pools of my eyes have dried
shallow sorrows will not drown me
struggling in oceans of uncertainty.
I beg for that last drop which only you can draw
from my eyes, tired of waiting and wondering
what the face of death looks like.
While sharks hover smelling the blood of betrayal,
rejection, loneliness, yearning
as waters turn red, they tear morsel by morsel.
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