Lost

There is a fog, a miasma of mind
Consuming the soul
Burdening the heart
With relentless might
That hails from confusion
A place; a world, an existence
That engulfs any who cross the threshold
A fog obscuring even obscurity
In plumes of despair,
In a nebula of persecution
Relentlessly hijacking truth
And holding hostage hope
In a soup of neural corruption
Where the light is stolen
And the swirls of night sweep
Cell by cell
Synapse by synapse
Into the abyss
Trapped, nay lost, in a living hell
From whence there seems no escape