Poetry

Fog

The fog is in my head again

 

I’m trying to think

slowly creeping through my thoughts

hiding some of the most precious ones.

I think I am a little bit broken

because I can’t see a lighthouse in this storm

 

I’m trying to think

trying to spit out these words

while pretending that they taste like honey

staring at a blank page

while trying not to bite my nails to the nub

 

I’m trying to think

empty pill bottles that

if I could afford to fill them

might clear it up.

 

I’m trying to think

What the hell am I saying?

What am I trying to say?

Where did I put my headphones

I need something to fill the static of my thoughts

 

I’m trying to think

This fog is not just fog

it is a smoke that is suffocating me

burning from my somewhere deep within me

filling my lungs

 

I’m trying to think

I cannot breath

but maybe I’m okay with that

Maybe I’ve fallen in love with the ever present danger

of when this fire will consume me

because

they say that most victims of house fires

die from the lack of oxygen

before they burn to death

And I’m running out of air

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