On Tuesday morning,
The roof of your shack was leaking
Every drop was a drip of water you wished to savor.
You lied in your bed,
watched the water droplets soak up your entire floor until you fell asleep to the sound of a pending death.
That night you drowned in your sleep
All that remained of you was the mass of your under-privileged corpse.
Tonight the entire house is on fire
You will not suffocate.
You will not choke.
The marrow of your skeleton will reach its boiling point,
as it bears witness to the lengths of your mortality.
Even when you have died this way
They will call you a legend.