sick again

the river's run dry and i'm parched
   again.
desperately i drink from a salty pool
my skin tightens around me with each
   sip.

the fever dream has ended
and so i enter the real nightmare--
   the manic anxiety of searching for a rabbit to chase
    and for something clear to drink
yesterday this all carried so much weight
that last night i dreamt of the moon
but i awoke to a dark and empty sky

i'm so lost
and so frustrated because i should've known better
   than to think i had found anything,
   much less myself.
much less something to sustain this fickle soul
   withered and trapped in cyclical obsessions,
   over and over again i cry
             "Eureka!"
over and over it slips through hands darkened
by the blood of a thousand goats slaughtered
in the presence of an apathetic god.