Poem: Almost Empty

cannisters

Empty

I am empty.
Drained.
A void.
Picture perfect
on the outside,
sucked dry within.

I know this feeling
all too well.
Once, twice, it nearly swallowed me alive
until like Jonah’s whale, it threw me back
and with a deep breath and a prayer
I lived on,

leaving me a careful sailor,
always watching the demijohn,
a little paranoid perhaps
as the water drains out, drop by precious drop,

which is why I stop so often
and pray for rain,
why I stop, face to the sky, remembering
to let in the spirit that feeds me.

I have no desire to die a third time,
no desire to test resurrection or resilience
for it may not be the charm,
but the end.

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