“Tell me what’s wrong,
I know there is something,
tell me what is bothering you?”
How many times have I heard this lately,
even though I reflect life.
“Nothing is wrong, I’m just bored, Fofo.”
I’d tell my mom.
Indeed nothing is wrong,
yet nothing is right as well.
I’m not depressed, I’m not high on life either.
I make fun of everything, everything seems meaningless.
Detached myself from the rest of the world,
looking at it from a closed window,
watching everything move, hearing far sounds,
waiting for curtains to close?
I was a seeker of truth once,
but now I am a searcher for new toys,
bored of it all, bored of the old ones.
Meaningless clouds shadowing my eyes.
Adventuring the world with my backpack,
trying to reach something,
something else.
And humans can never grasp what is beyond their senses.
At least that is what I know.
Only escape is imagination,
or a deadly strike.
Dogs see black and white...
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