By Randy Garcia
The walls of this strange place I call my room close around me.
My heart mimics the wings of a hummingbird.
My mind a crow.
My soul is a dead dove:
Rigid, motionless and empty.
My hand, shaking.
My thoughts, restless.
I'm dying of thirst from your oxygen in my lungs,
Your sweetness in my arms.
I wish I could sleep and never wake up
to stop missing you.
Because when you're a corpse, the tears stop falling.
And the walls that enclose you become your home.