Let the fog die, dissipate.

It's going away, this climate of never-happenings upon forevermore

and accepted is its inevitable passing

this wanted, but never happening storm of fire, glory and pain.

Let it go.

Let it go.

Let the matches drench,

at least I felt its scent.

I'm alive, and I'll live another day.

Read the first part of it, here .

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