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Endless, unyielding boredom Stalls the words on my lips Cuts the thoughts in my mind Chases letters from my fingertips. The color fades from my eyes And life becomes bleak and grey I hunger, cook, and eat But it is bland, without taste. My mind is barren in the spaces Where ideas used to flow The handle melts away from the door And I've no other place to go. The sun runs into the moon The moon burrows into the sky Hours become excruciating weeks That sluggishly sprint on by. Sentences become voices Ever loud, relentlessly speaking My eyes are my worst enemy Never finding, always seeking. Concise and simply stated With boredoms' additions, I am less I survive listlessly Without purpose, without rest.
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Oct 16, 2016
Oct 16, 2016 at 2:00 AM UTC
Without Rest
Endless, unyielding boredom Stalls the words on my lips Cuts the thoughts in my mind Chases letters from my fingertips. The color fades from my eyes And life becomes bleak and grey I hunger, cook, and eat But it is bland, without taste. My mind is barren in the spaces Where ideas used to flow The handle melts away from the door And I've no other place to go. The sun runs into the moon The moon burrows into the sky Hours become excruciating weeks That sluggishly sprint on by. Sentences become voices Ever loud, relentlessly speaking My eyes are my worst enemy Never finding, always seeking. Concise and simply stated With boredoms' additions, I am less I survive listlessly Without purpose, without rest.
QSaint
Written by
American
Oct 16, 2016
Oct 16, 2016 at 2:00 AM UTC
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