Daydreams and Dehydration

he cringes in silence and relaxation, dwelling on the sting of a sinking razor. he sets his eyes to relax. he feels the numb of dreamt up pain web through his lungs. one of his favorite thoughts. he sees the grass is finally green enough to plow through guard rails and splatter the blades with the colors of christmas. his other.
these are his escapes. he dreams of them daily. of ending. of feeling nothing. the torment of days and the weather have burned him weary. too many empty nights. too much lost. his daydreams and dehydrated guts no longer push enough fuel. the seals are slowly turning to tatters. the arms and cranks that once pumped heart and soul churn vinegar in a lazy blur of static and decay. if you could only see what his eyes hide in silence. if you could tap into this current. rejuvenate what feels old and brittle. worn and neglected. without a second or centimeter's thought his mind would wrap waves through the lands. pouring a vibrant red from a decade of pain and a lifetime of impoverishment. these recent months have found his nights aching with a sink so deep in his stomach. a hole. like the bottom got right on top of him. night after night washed away. meaningless achievements for a future he doesn't want to have. all he feels is rain. and he breathes so deep. he hopes it'll all rush out of him and someone will rescue him. but his signs, so cryptic, so chambered, never to be read nor written, nor loved, nor hated. he tortures himself with memory and hope and violent fantasies. enough bloodshed to quell his heart. to keep it pumping. to rise. to fall. a single breath at a time.