Sailing toward the words in a brain fog.
Maybe something I write will inspire me
to write something else- Another stream
of thought- Different from the last five
thoughts I just had-

There is no inspiration. There is just you.
And you aren't even you. You are just
a phantom imagined over a long time.
Imagined so long you have taken on
a form of your own- No actual reality
could ever improve upon who you are.
This is known- Known by you and known
by me. This is why we can never stand
face to face. It is impossible to stand
face to face with a brain fog.

The fog can only surround you and trick you
into walking deeper into it with your arms
stretched out trying to feel for something you
can see clear as day but as you press on further
nothing at all presses back. No pressure. I need
pressure. The pressure of a hug, a hand, warmth.
But you are fog! You are mist! You are cool.
Too cool, and so deep. I could travel into you
forever and freeze to death.

I do not want to be lost in the mist, or the fog.
There are no light houses guiding me or sirens
to warn me that I am about to crack my wooden
legs on the sharp rocks in rough seas. So, I will
do the only thing I can do. I am turning this boat
around and sailing in the other direction