And the fog comes in.

And it makes me worried.

It comes without notice.

And comes at great cost.

And it comes, as it does.

It is thick and heavy.

It grabs me by the back of my hair,

A serpentine kiss passes my lips, inhaling my breath. 

Stealing me from myself.

Tastes vanish, muted into bland.

Colors distant, inaccessible, and objective.

Rumbled, hazy feelings float by in translucence.

And it comes, as it does.

It comes.