i wont name this

this pain in my pinky needs to end    
i try to pretend it is my close friend    
in effort to make it a pleasant sensation    
but this pain just returns, again and again    
     
the well's gone dry, for the time being    
until some rain comes to feed our stream    
   
a build up of thoughts causes a down pour    
but some of the best writing comes in a storm    
     
this tongue of mine is feeling so dry    
perhaps it relates to my recent stint crying    
this skin of mine is covered in oil and looks pale    
and I can taste garden soil when I bite my fingernails    
this depression is born from my let down expectations    
because my heart wants what's not there from a certain person    
     
   
   
   
   
   
there's no one who deserves to carry the blame    
for another man, woman, or children's sin    
sins which only exist
when they're believed in