bad poetry of sadness

Some days I cry easy and some days it's all I do,
but then there are dry weeks and months
all the sadness burns my throat, a desert
of tears.

Some weeks I drown
Some weeks I perish

Some weeks I am joyful.

In which I am distracted, or, writing a paper is like praying, kinda. Maybe I should just dance.

Dancing is most like praying, right?

Unless it is urgent, I get distracted. Even sometimes when it is.