Purple Haze

melting fog pouring over the bleak deserted landscape. Burnt haggard wind blown black trees. Crows perched on rocky crags. Red sunset. Jagged clouds lying low. Walking on and on. Thoughts of whatever happens now. Death is close but must come sometime anyway. Holding on to life too tightly kills it. Mind is open to possibility of all change. Family lost. Friends lost. Security gone. Blanket which suffocates as much as warms. Better to feel the freezing hand of death