Damned

[rejectomorph]

Days like this which saturate the world, the torrid hues of their arid clouds bringing a yellow tinge to even the greenest shadows, their dense air weighting my lungs with every breath, their heat like a burning from within my skin, remind me of certain states of illness I've experienced. Days like this are fevers which bring both torpor and a sense of unreality, driving thoughts toward hallucinations and draining me of will. I drag myself around, not knowing what to do but hope for the evening to bring some cooling. The weather has become a virus, and I'm infected. There is no cure but a change, and no change is in sight. Maybe it's time I wrote a will. I haven't decided how to dispose of my possessions, but I leave my husk to the sun. It's clearly what the sun desires.