Friday, May 4th, 2012.
The humidity was settling,
Causing the moisture from my slick skin
To arise toward the top layer
Sweat racing down my forehead
As my alarmed eyes gazed upon the thermometer

Eighty – eight degrees


The number eight eight speared
Through my soul,
Causing the one and only hope
To survive vanish.
My throat, dry as a bone
I can see the light already,
Shining down upon me
I rotate my body,
Facing the burnt black leather
Simmer in the suns luminosity.
Death reaching my capacity,
I reach with all my might
Stretching my arm to the fullest
The cool tears of the chilled water
Contact my dried up hand.
I rotate my body back to front
And knock back the whole bottle.
Dehydration does not exist no more.
Death rate equals zero