Days become better Days become bitter Last month I was happy This month I am unkind. The fog steals me away.
When the days are good I wonder to myself "When will it start slipping? I know too well it is coming soon."
Then morning comes And I feel a slight fog insidiously creeping darkening my mind.
Suddenly the sun doesn't shine as bright. Suffocating air catches in my throat And my heart is an awful weight in my chest. on the verge of exploding, Thumping harder. Pumping bad blood. Hot and sick.
All I have to do is open my eyes to see that things are not what they should be, And an overwhelming feeling of hopelessness blankets me in my own disappointments.
Soon enough the days will become brighter. It will be easier to live in my skin, And the fog will ebb out. But I know it hasn't disappeared. The fog is just waiting. It will be back.