the expanse between
my ribcage
feels like nothing
like grey,
it's cold and heavy
numb and blind,
wading through it all,
my spirit is shrouded
with fog
its tendrils spill through
the rig bones, consuming
as it goes
I hide in a shell
clinging to the things
which I do know
to weather this storm
of stillness,
as I search for a light
of a magnificent source