Met Gala
Hugo Chan
I’m just trying to be something
I’m losing my mind
I’m surrounded by signals
Phone calls on silent
Every Monday a new episode
A new plot-twist for me
A new hand reaching out from the dark
(You’re lying, I don’t like that)
But I can’t answer its plea
Sometimes I think about dying, not for malicious intent
Blocking out all the problems that live within my head
They don’t seem to exist when you sleep or if you’re dead
I’m searching for
Am I searching for that or am I searching for you?
Am I searching for closure or searching for proof?
Am I running away or chasing the truth?