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The Fog

It’s coming. I can see it.
Huge, ominous, void of hope.
Like a cloud of fog.
And I can’t escape it.

Light doesn’t go far.
Terror of knowing where this goes.
I’ve been here before.
Here it comes.

Encased yet lost in it.
The coldness seeps in.
Every moisture drop is a thought.
So many it's overwhelming.

Can’t think, it’s in my brain.
It’s in my lungs, can’t breathe.
Panic starts to rise.
There’s no one around, alone.

Any weakness it sees it enters.
Splits wounds and cuts open.
Torn apart from the inside.
Is this how it ends?

Thought I’d escaped this.
Almost lost everything last time.
And no one sees me.
A statistic. What I’ll be.

God save me.

Style / type: 
Free verse
Review Request (Intensity): 
I appreciate moderate constructive criticism
Review Request (Direction): 
What did you think of the rhythm or pattern or pacing?
Is the internal logic consistent?
Editing stage: 
Content level: 
Not Explicit Content

Comments

the premise of this one, that love is like a fog. My one fault with it; is that I would change the [yet] in the line:
" Encased, yet lost in it. " I would say [and] lost in it; as it says to me, that one might not be 'lost' in the surrounding fog.
Unless you have radar, sonar or another means of determining your location, I do believe that most people, will make the assumption that one is 'lost'. I would also rethink using periods at the end of each line, as it does nothing for the work itself. You have already set the standard of each line being unto its' own. I do like the use of the question mark. The personification of fog, is done well. All-in-all, well written. ~ Geezer.
.

It seems that the days and hours that people
are available for chatroom are staggered and
not a good match for most everyone. How about
if everyone just shows up at the door, whenever
they have a few free minutes?

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