Mist

Riding fast in the early morn through dense and frosty mist-

Searching for some sign of life, but nothing here exists-

This play has no set storyline, but still I get the gist-

Feels like there’s something there, thriving like a cyst-

Might miss the point or drop the ball, still bleeding from the wrists-

The fearsome urge to crash and burn, I almost can’t resist-

No start, no end, there’s nothing here but this, this is the Mist.