The moon obscured by twilight fog
   is like a sentinel,
   guarding the acrid smell
   of the veneer of doing well,
     when really, deep down
   I feel like hell.

The deepest corners of my heart conceal
   a darkness
     and a confusion
       more real than real.
   I feel like I myself want to steal
     my whole life's foundation
       and take it far away from me.

Like the moon obscured by the fog
   I want to be free in the rain
   to run again
   to feel the same
   as when I played that game
     of life
     and of love
   but the moon's obscured by a fog
     from above.

If only I could see that light
   reflected through the cloud.
I yearn to feel how bright
   that moon tonight
     calls silently,
   but is yet so loud.

The weights and forces balanced on my mind
   are like a shard of possible time,
   slicing like the punchiest rhyme,
   and frequently taking my breath away
     like a thing sublime.
It seems I cannot help but stop
   to pause,
     to think.
Whenever there's a drip of beauty,
   I drink,
     even in the slog of cloudy days
   I'm right on the brink.
     It's the kind of thing that you may communicate
   with a wink,
       but that would never be enough.
Not even the poet's last lines
   drafted with enchanted ink
     could capture this feeling.

I stare up at the moon,
   her bright eyes obscured
       by a fog.