Hour 17

I arrive and no one moves,
sweat drips down their necks.
I am the heat, hitting people
like a wall
and they are frozen,
The room is a loud orange,
uncomfortable chairs lounge around
and on the glass table stands a cold beverage
slippery because of the condensed glass.
I try to make myself small,
still as a mouse teeming on the edge of death.
If only I could move through bodies of water,
maybe then I could find the quiet
I so utterly long for.
Exhaustion faces me like a stern sphinx,
tired of fighting and eating
she gives me the answers I have been looking for.
You have turned day and night into night and day.
Even at her best, her tongue twists riddles.
The dried-out red sand on the floor
lies dormant but I know
that the moment I leave,
it will come to life, swarm around
like an ant-nest about to be stamped upon.
I fear the ground.
Maybe if I let the day birth night,
instead of the night birth death,
my temperatures will lower
and maybe, I will be able to rest.

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