forehead pressed against
a cold window
my breath creating a fog
until it gets so misty
that my eyes start to feel lost

forehead pressed against
a cold window
creating my own fog
I pull back
and scribble words on it
on the picturesque light frost

it looks beautiful
my reflection
showing against the words I write
my scribbled memories
I keep writing on the mist
about the world
about wrong and about right

I write my life out in a song
my fingers feel cool and moist
I finish up and I pull back
to see the fog that gave me a voice

to see my master creation
to see that the edges are already gone
to see that its starting to fade
edges getting wetter
as I stare at it - withdrawn

my creationis already dispelling
around the edges
fading seemingly fast
all I can do
is sit and stare
and wonder how long this can last

I keep reading whatever is left
my words escaping seemingly slow
barely noticeable how much it's faded
until I can't make out my words any more
can't make out my words any more