I ponder a length of miles, no words, no smiles in the silence. I see a mist, becoming a dew, covering the grass, making something new. Where is the fog, oh there in the distance, it climbs like a snake a snake over a log. Whisking in and rumbling like a tide, becoming the air, rolling on hills up and down for miles. The miles I ponder, are now an abyss. Miles and miles of glass not missed. I can’t see through the cracks, but I can hear. I hear whispers in the wind, clouded by fog. It creeps through the broken window and barges in my hear. Missing my face but shooting straight at the side of my head. I hear the swift but abrupt asumption of sorrow in the gust. Feeling my stomach now with a bloating feeling of disgust. Sorrow I know, sorrow I do not want to hear. Sorrow is lonely, sorrow leads to fear. Fear of everything like 5 steps and pity. Sorrow is in itself a fog clouding the wind and rolling around into the never ending abyss. Water in shards falling from the universe to flow and falter over every part of the glistening now. But it is a ruse, a lie in disguise. Making the empty feel full and not so hollow. But hollow is better than sorrow. I would rather be empty and carved out inside, until there is nothing but the skin over the bones and a mind to make them move, almost like a robot. I do not want fake depression to pretend and claim a home inside me. To turn in on itself and become something else. Falling down the 5 steps to the bullshit that awaits. Acceptance? A joke is more like it. A big giant sick joke. I will obtain and contain the hollow hole that sits in my abdomen. Not to be filled or messed with anytime soon. Alone and airless, dry and stale like week old bread left out. Crumbling and shedding. That is the home, a hole made of broken trust, promises and nightmares. Nightmares meet the demons and have a slumber, then a talk to get on the same page. Waiting deep down at the bottom of the hollow. Making the walls harder and the barriers thicker. No wind to come, no fog to creep up, no airborne water shards to pierce. Just closed windows of house that is a home, a home that is not a home but pieces of shards to line the hollow chest and sheer anything that tries to break in, so I can lay back, get a handle on the leash-less paranoia and attempt to stop inhaling all the ammonia that is this shit hole of a place, with all its shitty people.