A Bead (Melodrama)

I cannot speak for my throat has gone dry
and in desiccation find no tears to cry
I long for some small sip to inspire
a life-giving liquid to set my mind on fire
But there is no water in the well
and the only fire is in this hell
I force myself to sweat a bead
of melodramatic poetry
So it is for the writer who
finds his thoughts have become too few
Mind shrivels up, prepares to die
Thirsting for a word to cry
out, already

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