The fog around my brain

settles gently like a cloud

touching my shoulders

as if sitting on hilltops.

The grey fug tightens round my head

stopping me from thinking

and moving

tying me down to my own space.

Glued down with sticky oozes

thoughts trapped in flypaper.

Mind chilled and frozen.

Sliced into shattering slivers.

Stopped still

clock stopping

held in abeyance

until the world starts spinning

me pinned to it

like the proverbial butterfly on a wheel.