Mood Shifts

Monday, June 1, 2020

When the foggy filter falls upon me,
I shift quicker than a roaring summer storm.
I yearn for a home outside myself,
where I am back to being me.
I yearn for a mist to fall upon my tongue 
made of everything I am.
Hoping for it to send a tingle
of familiar life back through my being.
For the hum of the sun to beat down and reigning my heat.
My blood boils as I reach for something I cannot grasp.
By and by,
I will wake.

This piece was printed in Volume 27, Number 2 of Asylum Magazine.

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