I am sick with it

Sick with anxiety 

Beaten down by your silence 

Sick with grief for whichever loss I must face 

Reason is threatening to cut my throat 

I am willing on my knees

To let reason destroy me

As I have destroyed myself 

Letting this go on

I am a plucked flower

Ripped from my ground 

Crumpled in your hand

You crush me 

Saying nothing has me dizzy

I feel your distance 

Disruption to my core

My roots are bare and dry

There is no water for me here.