As I sit on my hot rock, I watch life pass me by in a blistering haze.
My eyes burn as my throat scratches like sandpaper; itching for water. My skin slowly cracks; I’m too dehydrated to bleed
I lay on my burning stone, turn my eyes to the sky, and watch as my prey slowly circle me.
I am not dead; not yet
In my last thoughts I wondered about civilization. Humans reject nature only to watch it break through our impermeable stones.
If there is a will for life, there is a way. I feel the feathers nestle against my fingertips, and I know that I am finally going home