Drowning

I can see how the promise could drive one mad–
To be told that something fixes your desolation
And feel the same.
I can imagine how it feels
To drown in hope,
Desiccated all the while,
Having been sustained too long
On the memory of hydration alone.
It's not the hope that kills,
Not the drowning–
It's the pain of feeling wet, chapped lips
Realizing that to be surrounded by is no substitute
 for containing.