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.