Into the Dust

This crick in my neck and twist of my spine, 

is that of a lasting strain. 

A clash of low and high pressure, 

opposing forces that result in a tumultuous string 

of storms. 

An atmosphere weighing heavy on my shoulders. 

Even on the clearest of days,

 a dust devil forms,

damaging the most arid areas of self.
The aftermath of these hazardous forces leave 

dim eyes, a sad mouth,
a mind clouded by the darkest corners of my subconscious.
Nerves vibrate loose, a stomach lit afire.

Natural forces
form, live, and die.

and
So do we.