substance

i cling to that which is dead.

my roots are not tied to rich earth
but to sun-bleached sand.

i cling to myself.
to my world.
to my expressions and fears.
i don't need HIM enough.

i try to find meaning in nothingness.
value in surface.
energy wasted.

rain falls
sand is washed away as quickly as the coming of the tide

i cling to emptiness.
i thought i was holding on to substance

deceived.

but now i am stripped of all
wallowing in the mud

and it usually takes spit and mud
before sight is restored

...YOU never stop holding me