I start to speak,

but the fog hovers over my words.

The meaning becomes elusive,

it whispers things I never heard.

The words blow in the wind.

They seek a solid ground to land.

Spiraling down a rabbit’s hole,

with my head buried in the sand.

There’s a version of me that stands secure.

It’s not shaken, weak, or afraid.

I know what I want and what I need,

but I feel like a child who’s strayed.

I follow the whispering for answers.

Answers I once knew well.

This mental state of confusion

is a living hell.