Parched

I remember that well The poisoned water within My stomach churns at the thought of its drink It's been cleaned, or so I'm told. I can taste its metallic memory Involuntarily I retch Shudder. Can I drink blissfully again When each glass brings suspicion of death? Would I chose ignorance? Is fear so unreasonable? Shall I suffer instead my thirst? Parched, shall I instead choose sand? Licking the dust from my teeth whilst I watch Ice clinking, water cold and refreshing as it's Poured, generously, freely, without cost... But is it a trap? A mirage? A cruel trick? Can you ever enjoy the cool, clear water Once you've tasted the poisoned well?