The heat

The sweat drips across my face.

   The wind is a relief,
        when it comes;
      welcomed, though brief

   A certain disappointment sets in
       once I realize that
      it hasn't swept me away
     from this place

Moments later, the heat comes back
   and the thoughts of salvation
        from its soulless injustice
      are quickly burned away.

    The periods between the gusts
       are nearly too much to bear
      breaking only when my spirits
        are
          all but given up.

       Teasing me with useless hope.

    I do not forget the drips of sweat
       that cover my face
          and burn in my eyes
       though I act as though I am oblivious;
            as if I do not notice

  In truth, I cannot help but denounce it
       in the deep recesses of my mind.

     It is my only solace
        that I never let on
           the disgust I have
          for that burden.

        By shutting it in,
               I am shutting it out.