9.41.16.09.16

Walking through this endless desert
The end is a mirage shifting ahead - a taunting djinn,
Enticing onwards with sweet, copper allure,
Promises cool and soothing against heated skin.

Every time I catch that watery ghost,
No matter how quick or convicted my response,
I fall only to hard ground and dirt.
The writhe-wind laughs, and it hurts.
God, it hurts.

Sand gathers in every rag-cloth crease,
So each churlish shift is gritty with pain
And ground teeth.
It fills my shoes - my bones -
It eats at my soul, and I am weary with it.
So weary of it all.

The sun is a burden.
There's nothing to eat but sand.
The horizon is lost to dust-thick air,
Rough-yarn sanity reeled out behind.

I travel to that edge - the cool end ahead
Unenlightened as to where desert meets beach
Only knowing I'm not really dead, and reason's beyond reach.
I'm sick of it hurting.
Sick of being.
Tired of the shifting sands,
Stealing my feet from beneath me.