THE MIST.

I smile walking through the fog,
This wet blanket of sorts.
Hiding my tremble,
As the stinging cold isolates my senses.

It's all the same to me,
There is no reprieve from walking this plank.
I see nothing past my frozen nose tip,
My legs walking me into the abyss,
A blind man with nowhere to be.
The weather man said I created this darkness, With all my wanton dispair,giving this weather purpose. She hears my call,she knows I will this. Clear skies will never see the harbor for this ship. Wrapping my wiery bones with the fear I weave, I stumble on with the mist that decided for me. With lips cracked and mouth parched, I smile again as my soul empties,everything is fine. Kyalo.

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