Desolate

I bath.
I bath not because I am dirty.
Not because I am hot or sweaty.

I bath, hoping to soak the water up like a sponge.
Hoping to somehow fill myself.

To fill this desolate part of me.
This part that so desperately wants what it never gets.

here I lay, like a desert never getting enough to fill all the cracks.

So, I leave the water running.
Myself. Feeling like a draught in the middle of winter.