Almost finished

I am like a rag, dunked ceaselessly in a barrel of water and rung out, cycle never ending. I long to be laid in the Sun, allowing my weary body dry and revitalize. My lungs have no time to expel the water that was injected before more invades. My desire for the Sun deepens and intensifies, yet no time is allotted for recuperation. Back into the bucket, back to twisting and pulling til all has been squeezed out and yet still a ragged dampness will not leave. Back to a carmivourous devouring of a thanksgiving feast, placed in honor and reverance but attacked by a searching consumer. I am forced to consume in this way, discriminately, savagely, with no respect or regard. Knowledge is a consequence, perhaps, but so is exhaustion and irreverence. Yet that desire, unrealized and unquenchable, still rages, fueled and given motivation by the stained, holey, mildewed rag that I am