Sebum Production
Water drenched my throat,
Sliding into the cracks.
Blood runs thicker from taps,
And quickly forms into a moat.
Water, unstable, unpleasable,
Nothing can stick to you.
Your liquid starting to brew,
Soaking my words and syllables.
I ship similes on a paper boat,
And it starts sailing many laps
To avoid all the upcoming attacks.
I'm not longed for staying afloat.
The cup may be more than half empty,
But I was made clumsy.
I'll dampen the air around my cyst;
So no fire can turn me to mist.
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