Life can be a shade of cloudy gray, which makes me feel lazy because it’s sort of like a haze. That surrounds me keeping me still, which then suffocates my entire being, leaving me occupied. I constantly hunt for a thrill, searching for it with my cloudy-covered eyes. Which then gets me into mischief, but I can’t familiarize how it feels to be alive. It’s like a privilege in disguise, which I can’t seem to comprehend. Maybe it’s here, but I still haven’t found it yet.
