Permanent Fog

In a morning so dark and dreary- my eyelids had risen to the point of no turning back

Looking out only to feel as consumed as consumed in weariness,

Just as the many clouds that dominated the blues of the sky

Finding my legs are the cinderblocks used to smash every bit of me to pieces

The most treacherous part of the day was over-

Or so I thought

Not knowing that the extent of my body was no competition,

Compared to the weight that my soul carries

But nothing could be done then,

Except to continue on