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I feel it moving towards me,
A mocking cold creeping down the chamber,
I fear that it's coming for me,
An embrace unbearable and choking to befell,
Me in a dreadful hour,
Thoughts of peace ever fading,
Seeking shelter,
This crumpled mass limps away,
Down halls of black entwined by shades of grey,
Strength is to be found down in a tomb far away,
Not to shiver and whimper, but on the inside to suffer more,
Mist swirls through dimly lit cells of an idle prison,
A dreary realm that I walk from day to day,
In the shadows I see movement,
Glances of fate and hope,
But never a lingering security,
Sanctuary not to be found,
Only punishment,
The offense concocted of suspicious minds,
And steadied by false gods,
Woe is the man who died some time ago,
I mourned him not but fed upon his table,
A despicable action of denial filled with lies of pessimism,
But how can we ever see what's coming to us after it has came and went?
I take a moment to posture and ponder on my flight,
Do the ends ever suit the means?
I see ghosts now,
Figures of those who hang so ghastly,
Illusions of the ones who I favor,
And in my trance the fog smothers my existence....