Boredom

I wrote this when I was bored out of my head


I ran out of ideas. I’m running out of patience.
I’m running out of humour, and love, and will to live.
I feel like kept in prison by my own selfish creature
That tells me how he’ll never allow my soul to leave.  

The distance between being all crazy and all balanced  
Is shrinking as he tells me I’m going to go mad
Unless I find a secret, an open door or window
To throw myself right out of and figure this all out.

Can I? My legs are shabby. My eyes are sore and bloody
And God, these walls have started to stare as I grab all
My hair and tear it, throw it then thrust my head so badly
With both these hands right into this paintless bathroom wall.

I must find a distraction. My idle self is dying.  
I might go too. This boredom has got me lost and weak.  
Perhaps if I remember how beautiful life can be
I might escape this prison and start to live its gift.