circular and glass
clear
my chapped and cracked lips touch its surface
its a weapon of anarchy
a caspule for replenishment
the container of empty sorrows
my breath humidifies the insides
its internal composition
flooded within my deep and bruding sigh
i sip until the liquid it contained, is bone dry
drier than the grounds of hell
the rocks that lay barren in the sahara
my body is circulating
those sorrows and sighs i once breathed
washed away