Cottonmouth

Cottonmouth,

Dried up and drawn out.

At a loss for words,

Nothing to think about.

Pale, gray, transparent.

Cotton fields as far as the eye can see.

Anything within reach is hazy.

Fog hanging low to the ground.

Can't go the distance,

So put the fire out.

A long way from here is a field full of color

But I bare the thorns,

It litters my clothing,

And I can't escape; cotton.

-Cottonmouth