Most days I find myself in a fog

Lulled in and swept up by misty words in a swirling murk

It's pleasant enough behind all the smoke

Dreaming up fantasies and living in reveries

Like a flashback to a scene in a house with a 1950's white picket fence under a sunny sky

But the sun is only inside my clouds

On the outside, in the real world, my eyes are filmed over

My ears are filled up

My breath pushes into the haze so that its vapor, its words, become a part of the fog

And they too swirl around me, turn back on me, and numb me out even more

But on the keenest Summer day, when the sun is piercing hot, I break through the fog

My indignation at my detainment makes me boiling hot

And the fog around me lifts as steam

My words fly from my mouth like spears, piercing the bleakness, vehemently repeating Don't Forget Don't Forget

But I do

The dismal pall creeps back, slowly cloaking my feet and rising up to lay like a veil

It is always when I see the horizon that I find myself sedated again

Frozenly living behind my clouds, under the Winter sun