When the Well Runs Dry

I'm not a religious person

But some nights I pray

I pray that I have the ability to cry

And not just the cinematic stream of tears

No, I require soul wracking sobs

Sobs to the point where I cannot catch my breath

Deep enough to make me sick

Not for any reason except to release the pressure of life

Instead I stare

I stare at the wall and ponder

The consequences of perhaps throwing a punch

at the hard smooth surface

I go as far as removing my rings

But never actually follow through

Instead I decide to take a walk

I slip on a shoe and remember the time,

2:00am

Another shoe, and remember my gender,

A woman

I lay on the floor 

And think that it's just as well

The temperatures are in the single digits anyway

Instead I decide to write

I grab my notebook–

An old friend–

I sit with my pen at the ready

And stare at the open page

Every word in the English language evading me

Instead I try again to sleep

Laying in bed,

Comfort rapidly descending into discomfort ascending into migraine 

The energy squirming around in my veins

So again I pray

I pray to cry

I pray for this feeling to let me be

At least for a bit

Until we inevitably meet again

Wash, rinse, repeat