Serious Vanity

There comes a point in my week,
In my night,
In my life(?)
Where I realize I am out of energy for you.

I have no more to give.
The tank is empty.
The tank is dormant.
The tank is void.
I have cracked open the tank and spilled its contents into an already much polluted river and watched it run down, green and yellow and somewhat brown

To the sea.

I don't...
I can't...

I will not allow it.

I can
No longer
Hold the empty bowl of promise and hope and unending torment out and stare up into your glassy needy eyes and long for you to fill it [me].  I cannot.  The bowl...grows...heavy in its lightness.

I stare into it
I stare up at you
I reach into myself and feel for the thing you want
The thing you need and I am out of it now.

Not tonight, Love.

Not tonight.