The word "mist" never appears in Nikky's four lines, yet it hangs over all of them. The title supplies the image, and the text then behaves the way mist behaves. Mist doesn't vanish with a bang. It thins and drifts, showing a little more of the hills behind it each minute, until you realise it has gone. The opening works in the same way: "I feel invisible. Like I'm disappearing. Slowly." Those are three short sentences, each a step further along. The last is a single adverb, and the full stop after it makes it feel stretched out.
The poem is about the pain of being overlooked by someone who matters, and about how that pain can grow into doubt that you are real at all. Nothing in the text says who "you" is. It could be a friend, a family member, an ex, or a whole group. That vagueness helps, because it keeps attention on the speaker's loss rather than on any story of blame. The central idea is that we feel solid partly because other people notice us, and when their attention is withdrawn, a person can begin to dissolve.
The construction is simple, and the simplicity does the work. There is no rhyme scheme and no regular metre. This is free verse, closer to a half-whispered thought than a composed song. Sound patterns still creep in. "Further and further" and "less and less" are repetitions that trail off into each other, so the language acts out the drifting it describes. Then comes the pair "someone you care about" and "someone you'll hear about." The two phrases almost rhyme, but through repetition of "about" rather than a matching sound, and the one changed verb carries the whole emotional drop. "Care" is present and warm, a relationship. "Hear" is future and distant, secondhand. The speaker fears first losing affection and then being nothing more than a name in someone else's conversation, or not even that. Notice also "less and less *like* someone." It doesn't say "less of someone." The speaker is losing even the resemblance to a person.
The ellipses matter just as much. Nearly every line breaks into dots: "I'm falling... further and further," "...hear about...," "existence...". They are the visual version of a voice trailing off, and they leave the lines without firm edges, like the edges of mist. The first line makes confident statements, each closed by a full stop. After that the speaker seems to lose the confidence to finish a thought.
The imagery moves through the senses. First comes sight ("invisible"). Then comes space and movement ("falling," "further," "from"). Then comes sound ("hear about"). The poem takes away each way of being perceived in turn, so that by the end the speaker can be neither seen nor heard.
The last line changes the poem's register. Until now the feeling has been carried by metaphor, and only here does the word "hurt" name it directly. The pronoun also shifts. Earlier, "you" was the person who has stopped caring. In "makes you question your existence" it sounds more general, as if the speaker were turning to the reader. The line begins "An this type of hurt," which looks like a slip for "And," and the unpolished opening suits the spoken, unguarded tone. The vocabulary changes too. The poem has used plain, short words, and then "existence," the longest and most abstract word in it, arrives. A social wound has become a philosophical one.
What makes the poem significant is its honesty and restraint. It doesn't accuse or beg, and it offers no consolation. It ends on an unresolved ellipsis, as if the question about existence is still hanging in the air. It also takes a feeling often brushed aside as minor, the sense of not mattering to someone, and shows how much it weighs in a handful of lines. Many readers will recognise that feeling, and the image of mist gives them a way to picture it: nothing dramatic happens, and no one notices, until the person is simply no longer there.