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I arose this morning
With clear thought
My mind active with exuberance
But the outside skies are gray
Within the covering of the monstrous clouds—
Yet, inside my mind
I am active with exuberance
There is no fog here
No mist,          
          No forest shielding my thoughts—

I am awake
If so—where am I?
There is no anger
No tension, no sudden burst of anxiety—

Gene, I say to myself
I am well—no more yellow tiny flesh seeking missiles
Missiles use to target the cognitive part of my brain
I move swiftly
As not to miss any part of the day
But, then it happens
Like it has many, many times before
The grayness increases within the moment—

The fog rears its ugly self
As if—it never left
Then suddenly without anticipation
The energy dissipates from me
As I reach for those damn yellow missiles
The consumption slowly reaches the membrane
For now, the normalcy has return             
Again, I am imprison
By my own despair
Those damn yellow missiles—

Written by
     Gregory E Upshaw

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