Walking through the mist
Barely seeing anything but haunting faces,
Making me feel as though I am a time traveller,
Caught in a present where he does not belong,
As an integral part of an experiment he had no choice in joining,
And when he hits the line between chaos and order
With enough force to divorce such fault, and mix it,
It becomes himself.

It becomes me

So thank God for this mist
That I may not see the evil that is me,
And live the good that is the rest