DAWN HARTLEY
In a Haze The weather in my head is hazy, no visibility to see where to go. My thoughts are the signposts, signposts that I can’t see clearly. I don’t understand. I can’t think. The words aren’t in the right order. The letters are jumbled up. The haze creates humidity. Hot air that is thick and dry. Oxygen almost non-existent. It tastes of sand. The breeze is like a hairdryer. My hair is wet with sweat, dripping down my back. There is a blank look in my eyes, no thoughts in my head. The low clouds are suffocating me. The sky is white, tinged with orange. The mountains feel too close. I can’t breathe.
24
