There is a place in the middle of a desert where I sit to catch my breath. A palace of cool stones to my left, the sky not touching. I sit and think and breathe and watch the sun pass over head.

There is a desert, drying out the long sopping, sobbing wilted links of tissue that, collected together make a beat inside my chest. I see it in my eyelids, hear it in my sleep. Hear and see and wish and feel these skipping, murmor, slipping, warmer until I sweat them out.

I am the scorpion that bites, there waiting for you to step on and disturb. I have the claw to clip and tant, I am the lost that cannot wait.
-Once I was a dragon fly, I sored far over head. Once I was a person too, longing now for death.-

This desert, cold at night its never ending stars that shine. This deserted place for me to sit and loss my state of mind. I’ll wait here for the wind to blow, to pick me up and carry me home. I’ll sit here in its lashing heat until my chest forgets to beat.

I’ll make the sun remember me, like it does those that I love. I’ll make you hear me, blasted sky, you bitter fish, you bastard dove.
I’ll sit here flustered, hating life, but for you step infront of a knife.

It’s mine you see, the point well taken, for I am the sun in the sky. The very same that has taken life, and watches as life goes by.
It’s time and in its time things come and go before my eyes, the devil you know, the dust on your soul and the wish for a burning sign.

Matthew Newton
DOC #81868