There are moments when I am dry         Isaiah’s valley of bones could’ve tossed me a stone onto my desolate desert soulI do not always produce life         Sometimes instead of water, salt pours out of me - rushing like faucetsIt’s not always healthy          In these moments I try to pull it togetherGrasping for sustenance I fail to fuel what I have forgotten         I sometimes run my tank on emptyIs it normal to be in the negative         Or is the struggle merely relativeMaybe there are no real answers in the desert