Dreams

Eternal sadness courses muddy through my veins like an ancient African flood raging, yet soundless, for there is no one there to hear. In this skin it lives and rushes and churns and aches. Even fantasy is infected. I imagine her coming to me, showering me in warm sugar kisses, my cold skin heated only by her touch. But I am dead and soulless and filled only with the flood.I have nothing to offer back, for what she gives lasts only as long as she gives it. There is no room to resonate, and I won't be filled.