I can feel my insides deteriorate. My ribs are wrinkling and my lungs are shriveling. I watch the wind scrap across my heart as I lye open to her chaos. I've tasted this acid sand before. I can feel it scraping across my teeth and rolling over my tongue. It's racing across the inside flesh of my throat and coating my air. Breathing is coarse, dry, and tart. I swallow the iron of my blood. But this is never enough to quench the dying.