I have never seen a day so blurry.

Maybe there's a fog in the clouds or just cataracts in my eyes.

I am overwhelmingly terrified of health deficits, so fog it is.

Although it doesn't take away from the necessity of today,

To the best of my knowledge, that is,

As my good thinking is in season, on this slow morning.

Today I make a choice between fight or flight.

I have to, I really do.

Because not taking a stance means I align with flight nonetheless.

To fight is to claw through the haze, to carve a path.

And flight? It means I evaporate, quickly.

To the clouds and maybe have a dance with the fog.

Each fear earns a rebirth

A shadow stalking time, my time.

Do you see the cycle?

It does not end with me.

It never will.