It’s the kind of fog

that stole my breath

Thick and shadowy

Dark skulking movements

that stuck to my skin.

Ominous and dangerous

It held the memory

of every broken scream

I hated this kind of fog

And for the longest time

It’s the only kind I knew

It swallowed the sun

leaving me isolated, afraid

In a state of unholy detachment

that measured me for death

and embalmed me with despair

There was a time that the fog was ALL I could feel. A nightmare house filled with shadows and taunting Jesters. Dark conjurors of manipulation and deceit. It was filled with false memories of delusion and self sabotage.

In that fog I fight a war against an invisible enemy. A war that can’t be won but can be survived. The fog is a part of who I am. It’s not the only thing I am.


  1. Despair could be very scorching
    no wonder is difficult to manage
    feeling it all the time is exhausting
    in us can create a lot of damage
    another firearm of mental illness,
    depression, anxiety & its package
    fighting in community, getting help,
    being open is a strategic advantage.

    Liked by 1 person

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