Poetry

Drained

Each time a part of me is taken,

I fall under the waves,

crashing against the shore just as they do.

I know this part will soon be replaced.

Replenished

after nourishment and rest.

 

Though the hours pass, the ache remains,

and I can’t shake the disembodied sensation it gives me.

But there is no logic to this.

These tiny red specs I will not miss

contain not me, only my code.

So why do I wilt over a few cut leaves?