Unquenchable

I sip water as it leaves my throat dry,
A thirst such as this remains unquenchable.
I begin to stare at literally nothing,
As the clock's ticking grows louder than my cry.
I click my pen till it becomes breakable,
I sit in a corner, head down, trying to sleep or something.

I stay woken as no time has passed at all.
I feel this hunger, seeming unquenchable,
I lied - I feel a nauseous sensation.
As I breathe heavily and as I get up after I fall.
A gasp I produce in the silence, unbearable.
Lacking, I find myself, without any inspiration.

I try reading - which I never do - to end this feeling,
I feel an aching pain, obviously unquenchable.
I try to sleep to avoid it,
To my surprise, I find this novel quite - interesting.
Still. I seem rather disturbed and irritable.
Finding myself pathetic, I deem my life unquenchable, my mind unfit.

I play the flute, and i had been practicing continuously for an entire week for school, so I kept drinking more and more water but it was never enough, I still felt thirsty, I still felt dizzy. This poem, talks about this, while going over some insecurities of mine, art block, life and how boring it can get, while trying to tell a story: )