the fog contains all the
bad thoughts, all the
worst possible outcomes,
all the harshest parts of reality
and descends
familiar lands turned foreign
even time is warped –
the turn of the day barely signalled.
the fog isn’t malleable
you can’t make anything
out of it except things that
are beautiful in an ugly way
and even then it’s a
matter of opinion.
one day it will lift
but the end is
impossible to see
because the fog
doesn’t simply shroud –
it steals, with no promise
of replacement.
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