We’re back in Mississippi,

but I’ve never wanted to be here.

There’s rain everywhere,

and I feel like I’m drowning in the ocean.

A hurricane, or even a tropical storm,

rages around me, but I’m in the eye,

so, I have to be fine, isn’t that right?

Because I’m not being destroyed.

But the eye of the storm can be worse,

because you never know when the walls

will crumble and send you into your demise,

you never know when your peace

could become a promise of warriors’ cries.

We’re back in Mississippi,

but I haven’t stepped foot there in years.

Nor tire or plane wing, or any of the sort.

We’re back in Mississippi,

in the rain, in the sun, in the fog.

Because I’ve never seen anything

as dark as the fog, as dark as my feelings,

as dark as the tears coming from my eyes.

Like I’m in the fog, I can’t see.

My friends all but leave me.

All I do is pretend I don’t notice,

and they pretend they’re innocent.

I’m in the eye of the storm,

and I don’t know when it’ll hit,

but when it does,

that fog will drown me

more than the waves and rain,

and when it does, you’ll be staring

down at me, wondering how I got myself

into something so catastrophic.

You’ll never really know,

that it wasn’t the rain, the challenge I need,

it wasn’t the waves, the lesson I learn,

but it was the fog, the _friends_ that blinded me.