Fogs that Crept into My Mind

In this rusted cage,

That is my mind,

My vision is blurred,

From these wild grey fogs.

How can I complain,

When it's the only color I see,

Besides death?

Determined is the color death,

To swallow me,

Slowly but surely.

Now I'm asking once more,

Is it possible for the fogs,

To not become my blue sky?

This cage is distorting the blues I once knew,

Leaving no choice,

But for grey fogs to be my favorite color.

When non-existence's color draws so near.