Fog

I awaken every morning, wrangling all those wasted breaths from the malice ridden, tangled corpses of my lost attributes... My dreams always fixated on delusions of grandeur that seemed to have come and gone. I mourn what once was, and what can never be again... Looking into the dim abyss of my future is like looking into the night fog... The distant, weak light beckons me with its false pretenses... "Things will even be better than before!" It promises... And I almost believe it... Almost...