It's the air,
the waft of coolness that erodes at heat till its steal.
the spread of grey sky; miles and miles.
A phantom limb of memories.
The air isolates and confines,
enough to hide the horizon,
enough for the longing of heat to feel numb,
Impassible; however attempting.
to subside a feeling that makes your gut twist.
A bitter disgust for yourself and the way you let others treat you.
Impassible, yet passive
as you do anything to untangle the sick feeling that lingers.
It's the air,
a reminder on a day like this your worth left you empty.