The Fog

Thick and smothering

And it goes on forever

You blindly stumble onwards

Possibly forwards although you're not sure

Anyone would loose their bearings in a place like this

You stumble to the ground

Hard and sharp

You cut your palms and knees

And the webbing between your fingers

Scarlet bleeds into grey

But its lost as you reach out a hand

Looking for something to grab onto

But there's nothing there

Cold and empty

The space it fills

Your fingers brush naught but rotting damp and raspy breath

While the sky above is swallowed by the nothing

There's fog

So much fog

Sometimes though you catch a glimpse

Of something in the distance

A thing

It's made of shapes

You could lean on it

Rest you weary bones if you get close

It reminds you

It reminds you that you can see

Most of the time though there's just fog