The Fog That Knows My Name

I wake to silence—thick, not kind,

A static hum that grips my mind.

No hunger, no desire to eat,

Just dragging bones and frozen feet.

The mirror shows a stranger’s face,

A ghost who’s lost his sense of place.

I used to dream in vivid hues,

Now every thought is black and bruise.

Regret’s a whisper in my ear,

It tells me what I failed to hear.

It shows me roads I didn’t take,

Then laughs at every small mistake.

I breathe, but barely—just to survive,

A haunted shell that stays alive.

The fog surrounds, it knows my name,

And I’m too tired to play the game.

I scroll through feeds I can’t relate,

Each post a mask, each smile a bait.

I type “I’m fine,” delete the text,

Then wonder what will happen next.

I used to fight, I used to scream,

Now I just float inside a dream.

A dream where nothing ever breaks—

Because it’s numb, and numbness takes.

I miss the fire, miss the sting,

Miss feeling anything that rings.

But now I sit in quiet dread,

A thousand thoughts I haven’t said.

I tried to talk, I tried to cry,

But every word just passed me by.

They say “you’re strong,” they say “you’ll heal,”

But strength’s not something I can feel.

I wear my grief like second skin,

A cloak I never asked to win.

And though I walk, and though I try,

I’m fading slow beneath the sky.

So if you see me, don’t assume

I’m just a shadow in the gloom.

I’m still a soul, I’m still a flame—

Inside the fog that knows my name.