Aimless, in a desert of
strange colors I have never seen before.
Lost and wandering, wondering.
I find the sunburns oddly charming.
Dry skin, splitting lips,
and the constant crawl of sweat
on my baking, burning skin.
I know only the sky,
as empty as my jaded, coffin of a mind,
buried in Egyptian sands,
long forgotten by even the most dedicated archaeologists.
The sky is laughing at me,
my plight.
Contrary to popular belief,
it does rain here. But only for a moment,
the most brief whisper of hope that falls,
unobstructed, through my grasping, thirsty hands.
Or maybe that is my imagination.
Or, better yet, simple determination.
It's probably better not to ask questions.
The phantom rain is my only sustenance,
after all.