A trail of footprints- their cavities deep
Marked on these sandy dunes
Following these are misnomer winds
Blowing from foreign soil bereft of moisture, choking my throat
I cough out black blood
My thirst remains unquenched

As the sun casts its cannon
In my direction burning
The last strip of tolerance

The dusty, rogue sand storm
Unwilling to cease
Swirls around ******* my energy
And in the desolate air of pure abuse
I lie numb; The oasis of ecstasy
beyond my reach

The oil in my living wick has dried up
Penniless I happen to be
No money but work is ghastly

Thus, do not question or comment if this wick remains unlit tomorrow
For the path I treaded was mine ALONE
So let the end remain lonely too

~Manu M.