You can smell the heat
Taste the sand in the back of your throat
You can see the heat
Feeling
Weightless
Yet grounded
Yet grounded
Becoming
Becoming
You are Becoming
A mirage
Crashed into life's forgotten crypt
There is a reddish tint on the needle tip
At first sight the plants are bleeding
The wind blowing sand and nothing else left
Spitting out through a slow gust of breath,
The dessert of death
Nothing matters now