• The sun is ablaze.

    Baked and shrivelled like a
    Potato skin, I stagger on.
    Vast nothingness surrounds.
    A bed of sand to rest my yellow head upon
    A curtain of blue that’s waiting for the

    Show to start, and life to end.
    Aphids have left plants dry and brutal
    To emphasise my sanded tongue.

    Trying to guzzle the empty contents of my flask,
    I curl to the floor and clamp my ears shut
    With dry sandy hands,
    But still I hear the desert eagle’s wings,
    And the slurping of assassin bugs as they drink my life away.

    Miraculously, the sand bleeds before my eyes,
    And a fresh stream of water spurts
    Only a short distance away.

    A short distance.
    A reaching distance.
    Hope.
    Great god almighty, HOPE.

    I press my face into the stream with
    A croak of joy.
    I cup my hands and throw beauty in the air
    I watch it confetti around me before I plunge my hands in once more.
    I cough as water tumbles down my throat
    It feels hot.
    It feels solid.
    It feels dry.
    It feels like misery

    I fall back against my bed,
    Defeated.
    As my eyelids flicker closed over
    Crusty balls of pain,
    I hear the cackles that come from
    God - My audience.