Smogged

Grey is in between

An unbeknownst

A forever wondering

The days are hazily

Listlessly lived

Slightly blundering

Along in a fog

Smokey and chokey

Going under

Not even trying

Barely surviving

Torn asunder

But never really

Parting just awake

And slumbering

Living grey

In this way is really

Quite encumbering

Carrying my own

Clouds of constant

Suffering