Fields of thought as opaque as the densest morning fog
Reasoning that bares a copious resemblance to madness
Hopes that droop in an awkward descent towards the ground
Dreams seemingly disappearing into nothingness.
The mind becomes chaotic
Night loses its majestic appeal, becoming day
Day brings forth loss, disappointment, rejection
Every word spoken is such a cliche.
Sights are inessential
Tastes are bland and smells don't mean a thing
Sounds extinguish any coherency
Sincerest touch is mediocrity to this changeling.
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