Drip, Drip, Drip - first and only

The faucet seems cracked and the thought of facade becomes a fallacy. Cranky, that's what I'd call this immature emotion. I don't need to tell you, fallen angel. We all are. The rusty pipes scream to be cleaned, it takes a gentle hand. The way our bones hold tight comes a bit closer. A bit deeper. I never have the ability to manifest those thoughts, I'll speak that as truth. The shadow self which the mask hides, I show my hand with a wink. My biology contrasts. I'm alive once again. Once again, learning again and again. I won't let myself lose sight. The pressure builds in the pipes, for a moment. But I've seen your true smile. Drip. I struggle to make sense of these feelings. Drip. I hold you instead. Drip. Silent connection causes a fallacy to crash. In time, we realign, and we manage the tap.