8|30

You’d think I live off of tears. That the creases of my nose were built like river beds leading to my reservoir mouth. But I am not a mountain. I am not even the clouds that worship it. I have cried too much today. So today I am desert. Nothing grows here but desperation and lethargy. Tomorrow I may drow . Tomorrow my tears may give way to a body that is more water than bone. More stillness than sound. 

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