NaPoWriMo, poetry, writing

Controlled Motion

Gasping, tremors, needing air.

Stumbling to the back,

Desperate for a drink of water.

Throat is dry like the desert as

quivering hands struggle,

The clear liquid sloshes in its bottle.

Finally a gulp goes down,

As sweat drips into eyes.

But relief is not found.

Light exercise, it’s not…

This is a form of torture!

April 4, 2022 – DRM

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