if it never rained again

and the joy just dried up

and the ground remained dry

beneath my too small feet,

and the sky in its artificial way

lit up my skin

till its veins lay bare

and my blood ran away

past the time that it needed

to be worthy of life

and all that is good..

-would i sit there alone?

-against dried out wood

-beneath wilted willow

-on empty ground

-with empty hands

-and empty heart

till the wind blew me over,

on that grave that i drew.