Foggy waters,
And discarded daughters.
Animals baring teeth,
And poisoned needles rendering enemies obsolete.
Blooded tridents,
And broken silence.
Shattered childhoods of the deranged,
And Hell's king changed.
Terrors in the night,
And no end in sight.
Freedom a lie,
And unwilling to cry.
Pained laughter,
And goals to go after.
Shared mindscapes,
And heroes offering escapes.
Stuttering vessels,
And one-sided wrestles.
Blind hatred,
And lines misread.
Mist is an illusive thing,
As silent as an owl's wing.
It is ever prevalent,
Its existence never irrelevant.
Mist seeps through the smallest of cracks,
Breaks through your attacks.
It is a trick of the eye,
An extravagant lie.
But even the Mist has some truth within,
It cannot always win.
Mist shields its precious from harm's way,
Attack is not it's only play.
Bullets of possession,
A mafia obsession.
Heterochromia Iridum,
War and death loom.
Unchecked power,
Civilians cower.
Peaceful towns,
Epic showdowns.
Bitter defeat,
An unwilling retreat.
Helping hands,
A coward stands.
Deals made,
Accepting a trade.
Sworn fealty,
Mist shown reality.
Changing tides,
Taking sides.
Mist and Sky,
Wrongdoings are rectified.