02-08-2016, 08:22 AM
The route, painstakingly penned from my own hand,
stalls before me now, lost to the humors of fate.
Once crisp and clear, it is given way.
It looms, all vapor and mist, an entity in itself before me.
Yet in it I have found a space.
I am free to inhale its milky breath,
the heaviness of it weighing on my lungs.
I wait for consciousness to fade, to absorb into the gray.
But it does not. It will not.
Instead of screaming to leave, I am drawn to stay.
My self is speaking now and it is not afraid,
it has uncovered an engaging apathy.
I will take it up, this fog.
I will let it lay in my hair, against my skin.
I will soften my edges until it pours into me.
There is no need to flow forward, to push on.
I am here, in this mist,
and I am brighter than I have ever been.
stalls before me now, lost to the humors of fate.
Once crisp and clear, it is given way.
It looms, all vapor and mist, an entity in itself before me.
Yet in it I have found a space.
I am free to inhale its milky breath,
the heaviness of it weighing on my lungs.
I wait for consciousness to fade, to absorb into the gray.
But it does not. It will not.
Instead of screaming to leave, I am drawn to stay.
My self is speaking now and it is not afraid,
it has uncovered an engaging apathy.
I will take it up, this fog.
I will let it lay in my hair, against my skin.
I will soften my edges until it pours into me.
There is no need to flow forward, to push on.
I am here, in this mist,
and I am brighter than I have ever been.