Fatal sun, radiating a cherry halo upon my withered body . . .

Sand melting under the heat, bonding with my blackened flesh . . .

Bird of prey pick apart my body, I choke in silent pain, my throat already full of weathered mineral . . .

I agonize until the witching hour, under the intense abuse from the midday star . . .

I still as unholy serpent slither over my still warm body, they burrow, in hopes of protection from the frigid winter night . . . 

Morning blooms again as I resign myself to another epoch of torture,

I await the blessed hour when I finally pass on from a tormented reality