Grey haze.

Here I sit,
In the twists and turns of life,
The moments of joy,
Then the twisted knife.
Priority setting,
An individual thing.
Much like what,
Makes your worn heart sing.
I have mine,
They make sense to me.
If I could fully embrace them,
I think I’d feel free,
But is that a lie I tell myself?
Am I picking dream images,
Off a shelf?
Would there just be other items,
To darken my days?
To cover the gold,
In a thick grey haze.