Doomed to forever be concerned with the things that most won't notice - let alone take an interest in.
Fated to state the rules of a game of which most don't know they're playing - whether or not they may be winning.
Always curious.
Ever grasping.
Despairing when they realize that the quest is everlasting.
What is it that makes it thus?
Myself,
the world,
random floating motes of dust.
I'll assign them meaning just to see it fall apart
in the face of a smile.
In the face of indifference.
Caught up in a desperate attempt to recapture one's lost innocence.
A few misplaced words can turn you into just another madman scribbling on the walls.
What keeps it going?
It's the hope that someone,
somewhere,
will understand it all.