The bottle clanked to the floor, followed by a heavy
thud,
The stench rose in swarms, fogging the air all
around,
The surroundings paled away, as the eyes closed,
Oblivious to the wave setting in, consuming all in
its way,
There was a new red in the atmosphere, deadlier than
ever,
Everything seemed to melt, when the hot current
gusted,
Nothing remained untouched by this blistering fog,
Adding to the furling fumes, dancing in the heat,
The bottle swirled in the blowing wind,
The remaining drops rising to the sky, not touching
the ground,
The shadow rose from the ground, mumbling and
croaking,
The need was visible, the want was evident,
The throat was dry, and the head heavy, legs laden
with lead,
He struggled to his feet, stumbling in the forest of
hotness,
All he needed was a drop, not more, to rid him of
all troubles,
The bottle had been his third, but to no avail,
The search had been in vain, so far, and ahead it
seemed too,
Drops glistened on his skin, burning in the anger of
the sun,
So close to him, yet so far away, there was not a
drop to drink.
