I feel like a black blob
on one of Bob Ross's paintings.

A smudge trying to become the sky.
With no understanding of how the wind blows.

The best I can try to become is a dark cloud.
Inanimate on a painting that did come to life.

How does everything feel so light and natural?
You can almost imagine the world soaking up the sun.

I am sitting outside on a bench trying to become like that. Yet the sun shines on this dark smudge within me, casting a shadow further inward.

Creating this vague grey shadowy road that I must travel.

Well I better wipe my tears and get going.
Even this little piece of banana that I dropped here yesterday already headed off before me.