Thirst

I hunger
for the noise
and thirst
for the burn
running down
my throat
and warming me
since I've grown
so cold
when all is still
and sleep has settled
all around.

I want nothing more
then to be numb;
made of something
that isn't
flesh,
bone,
and blood.
Remake
my heart
out of steel,
diamonds,
something,
anything,
that won't break
when it hits the floor.

Wake

I'm drowning
in myself
tossing in the currents
swallowed by the salt.
I can't hear
your words,
can't feel
your feelings,
over the crashing
of the waves.
My soul is like
a pebble,
lost
thrown about
made smooth
and small
in the wake
of the world.