Treacherous fog.
Its chilled damp fingers cover my eyes,
Surround my head,
Draw the breath from my lungs.
Then I am an empty shell.
Obscured by fairytale
Wisps of cloud.
And I am beautiful
From what you can’t see,
Like a soft-filtered picture,
Or a candlelit dinner.
And the ghastly cloud
Softens the echo of my
Empty soul.
As soon as they’ve left my mouth.
My prayers vanish,
Fade from sight,
Disintegrate into the
Mess of air,
And nothing is real.

-Lamentations 3:44
You have covered yourself with a cloud
so that no prayer can get through.


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