The Yearning

The yearning gets intolerable,
inside my chest is tossing,
though I don't know what for.
Sometimes I think it's for the love that only drips,
when I ask for a faucet flowing freely.
Sometimes I think it is for success,
finally, and I can break free from my bondage.
It seems to be worst in bed when I am
defenseless to still unbroken dreams of mine,
and I sink into it and it plays me,
though in the end I am betrayed by it,
and am only an empty pipe.