When they know they’re going to
Die, giraffes dig themselves a
Hole
And sit in it.

Alone in the desert without any
Water, I sift through the sand and
Sit down.
The sky is so calm and endless here
With no one but I to see it;
Not even a bird passes by to accompany me
When I go.
The sun is oppressive
Weighing me down further into the
Shifting sands.
But down here, it’s
Cold
And grainy, so closed
With the sky shrinking fast.
Through cycles of
Self-loathing
Self-pity
Bright sky
Hot sun
My worst fear is now
Not the cycles but
That I won’t be able to pull myself out
Of my hole I dug myself.