the fog's hunger.

the wind stirs again,
coveting lands that have
held its breath for
far too long.

we were foolish to think
of wind as the purveyor
of hope; bringing muddled
carnations as tidings of
personalized well-wishes.

the truth was –
the wind howls in
pain, ebbing itself
raw.

the settling sun
drapes herself
with a thicket
of clouds,
so you light
yourself on
fire.

do you know how morose
fog must have been to
drop out of the sky like that?

//

it creeps further, carrying with it the amalgamated
sounds of crackling thunder, heavy rain and traffic,
breaking into wisps of silence for no more than mere
seconds, labouring every time you draw chilled breath
into your lungs. steadfastly rooting yourself into the
ground, a carousel of light flashes in the distance behind
you, beckoning to you. light offered you no reprieve in the
past, why should this be any different? you calm your
breathing, and anchor your eyes to the floor.

this is it.
this is what you dread.

-----------------

prompt: "to be eaten by fog", thank you star!