when my life becomes so boring that is actually starts to hurt

Insistent, grey mist flutters before my eyes
Seeping into my vision till everything I see is tinted with grey.
Till I can only see the world with half closed eyes.
Till everything is dull, monotonous, routine, grey.

It is almost like it is willful, that it wants me to be blind, it wants me live in a box of my own making,
And it almost succeeded.

But it forgets one thing: I was not made to see in grey.
Every cell of my body has been fused with color, rainbows of blues and yellows that collide and form a tapestry of colors inside of me.
Colors that are not so easily forgotten.

So no matter how my life looks on the outside, I can never be satisfied.
The colors in my veins fight, struggle out demanding to be heard, demanding to be experienced,
demanding a greater spectrum of emotions: anguish, exuberance, ecstasy, hatred.
But never lethargy, apathy, indifference, boredom.

And so they fight.
And so I feel.
Though I cannot see my way through the mist, I cannot passively accept it.
I feel frustrated, dissatisfied. I feel as though though the routine of my life is a knife that chafes and grates on my nervous.
And sooner or later I will not be able to take it anymore.
And sooner or later I will explode. 
And the colors will burst forth like paint droplets and scatter everywhere, defying the grey, filling everyone with a sense of wonder, a sense of excitement.
A sense of more. 

And maybe they will finally start to question why they live their lives in this way,
And maybe they will cease to accept a life with so little,
And maybe they will break out.
I don't know, I just know that I will not be bound by the reality that is presented to me,
That life can and will be more, and I will not sit back until it is.