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Writer's pictureA Metalhead's Poetry

Boredom


Boredom, cancer of the mind

Bringing forth bodily danger

No release can I find

As thought invades like a stranger


The point where time stands still

No one to see, nothing to do

At this moment nothing has any thrill

It seems an age since my imagination last flew


Maybe doing something stupid will speed up time

As a child boredom was removed by playing in dirt

Blood sounds like fun, reaching for a sharpened dime

Something stupid is right, the only question is 'will it hurt?'


©Josh West

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