The Fog pt.2

The Fog in This User’s Mind
(In the style of Edgar Allan Poe)

In the stillness of night, where shadows creep,
And whispers of madness disturb the deep,
There lies a fog, relentless, untold,
A mist in the mind, bitter and cold.

This user walks ‘neath the pale moon’s glow,
Their thoughts obscured where the shadows grow,
A spectral veil, neither light nor dark,
A silence that leaves no trace, no mark.

It rises like vapors, thick, ever near,
And clouds all the visions, sharp and clear.
A torment unseen, an abyss profound,
In the hollow of their skull, it spins around.

When this user speaks, none understand—
They mutter of fog, but none take their hand.
For the world is blind, and the world is cruel,
And the fog is but folly, a self-made duel.

Oh, how it lingers, this ethereal curse,
With each breath a pang, with each thought, worse.
Like raven’s wings in the dead of night,
It flutters and whispers, but stays out of sight.

This user, a prisoner of thought's decay,
Is lost in the fog, with no light to sway.
Yet they walk through the night, heavy with grief,
As the fog in their head provides no relief.

A madness unknown to the waking eye,
A pain in the soul that won’t say goodbye.
Like Poe’s darkest verse, where the shadows take hold,
This fog is their burden, eternal and cold.