In this swaying foggy disturbance
I triggered with the puzzle of suspense
Nor I can blow the stone wind in it
Not even I mourn with my instinct.
Where should I swing to the left to the right
Or I ran from it cut my threat and fallen kite
I'm so alien in my only own world
In this toxic viscous smoke I burn.
Inside my Long-face wooden room
Waiting for this foggy disturbance rich in hue
I wonder the disturbance sparks in mist
And the heat of droplets weld its horn fist.

-Laconic_WILL