| Sand filled winds blow shattered dreams across a
desolate land of desperation. Sun drenched rocks bake in the heat of my decay, a future of happiness has been destroyed by my own hand. Warm summer showers once wet my appetite when prosperity flourished at my feet. Now they drown me in sorrow. The lifejacket of my own salvation floats on the surface just beyond my reach, yet I lack the strength to swim it on my own. The will inside of me ebbs between ecstasy and extermination. If only the merciless sun would abate, and my sand filled lungs would inhale what I crave could I only possibly dream of recapturing what I have lost. CHRISTOPHER S. BUTCHER |
 |