Desert Prick

The air is heavy,

my arms are weak,

My tongue is parched,

I can’t even speak.

Why am I here?

They told me not to go,

but I really wanted to put on a show.

Orange, Reds, and Blacks, stare back at me

mocking my eyes with peering patterns.

When will I be free?

Suddenly, green peeks into my view,

My mind certainly yearns,

for that desert prick.

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