We walk between the
Towering old houses
Weathered statues
Crumbling walls
Of ancient Pompeii

Not a single
Scrap
Bit
Fluff
Of a cloud
In the endless blue blanket of sky
To offer any form of relief
From the smoldering sun

Dust swirls from the
Shuffling
Sweaty
Tennis-shoe clad
Feet of
A herd of tourists
Bustling around each other like sheep
The dust spirals into my mouth
Clogging my throat
With a
Dry
Harsh
Bitter taste
Clicks of cameras fill the air

Sweat pours down my back and face
Nausea swirling in my gut
The guides droning voice
Buzzing in my ears
Worsening my pounding headache

Black dots swim in my eyes
As we stumble
Into an old stone bathhouse
Cool air washes over my skin
I plop down on a moldy cement bench
My head resting against the cold refreshing stone

I slip into unconsciousness
Nothing but
Blackness
Emptiness
A sweet escape
From the confining cage
That is my body