Drip, drip, drip

my anger, my sorrow

would that it leave tomorrow.

Tossing and turning

no rest will come to a mind that's burning

and a teary eye

from a well so dry

makes it too hard for me to cry.

Drip, drip, drip

my friend, my foe

would that I not feel this low.

Boozing and drinking

no peace can be found when the soul is sinking

and this cut on my arm

is no cause for alarm

even though its my body I harm.

Drip, drip, drip

my mother, my father

would that I not slip any farther.

Yearning and burning

no such thing as this new leaf to be turning

and this hopeless calm

is no healing balm

such as you might find in a faithful psalm.

Drip, drip, drip

so now you know

and I really must go.

This emotional state

brings forth so much hate

it's making me crazy

so the mind becomes lazy

I wish I could fix it, leave it, or toss it

like a problem so simple as a leaky faucet.