There are desert days,

when the sun scorching bright

plants the idea of cancer into your skin.

When the river of your throat

runs dry,

and you are left with a cracked canyon

of an esophagus.

Drops of water evaporate before

they can soothe your aching tongue,

even the sweat on your brow

dissolves into mist.

You burn,

spitting out coal dust

with every choked breath.

Your core has melted into a

vast, bubbling pool of magma.

A spreading heat that blackens

you from the inside out.

When all is done and nothing more than

charred bones licked clean by flame remain,

you rise again, brush the soot from your skin,

and step out into the world once more.