It's so quiet in this desert...

I am the dust here;
I cannot carry your
echoes on my back.

We used to flood the halls
with laughter
now I can't even taste
the sounds that tap-danced
on my tongue.

I'd rather have your fists,
your veins flowing with anger,
because then at least I could
retreat

but I can't back up when I'm
already so lost in the wastelands.

I am a kind of thirsty
no heart could fill;

I've been barren far too long.