Woe, and what darkness is this?
What existential bliss and moderate madness is the whole of this?
Woe, and bliss, like the cry of the lone nationalist, but without a flag.
As a ghost,  a notion.

As a wisp, a figment of nothing.  

In the fog, my heart.  

Dancing in endless circles of confusion.
A dervish of obsession, who is blind and lost of the path within.

In my heart,  the fog.

Woe, what is this darkness?