Good evening to water signs, people with daddy issues and artists

There’s not much to write about
most of it all is just okay
I haven’t felt the need to bolt out
or to hide or keep my brain at bay

But it’s a bit disgusting, now that I think of it
to start believing there’s no mishap
Easier to break down, at least a bit
knowing my pocket still carries a scrap

However, guilt has its magic
it creeps up on me, like a sudden blackout
buzzing in my ear like static
really? is there nothing to fret about?

You, on the other hand, worry for my sanity
wonder how I can’t sense anything but I feel everything
who on earth would adore their obscurity?
the invitation’s open, a lung is all you have to bring

There’s not much to write about
when you believe most of it is all okay
that’s the dullest of states, I can’t doubt
when all you see are shades of grey

It makes sense they feel bored everyday
forgetting flavors, shapes, the scents through all the hue
rather let their colors fade away
for a false sense of certainty and be one with the crew

So I promised, by the sake of my humanity
to always be better than just “fine”
explode the colors I’ve been given, fall into “insanity”
and write it all, on a poem, on the skyline, or on a glass of wine.