on boredom

we expend our energy on cardboard boxes,
and scratches in ink screens,
and four-hour lectures about a future
they won't let me have.
and more;
the nice-nice awkward corridor smile
pretending i care,
when all the while...
you're not my friends,
even though my friends
died in two thousand and eight.
can't you all see?
i'm tired. and unhappy.
i don't even want you near me.
but i didn't think i'd live this long,
and i was only interesting
in my drunk, depression misery.

Reviews

[Michael X]

wow, this is immensely powerful, and abstract, convincing, and all around pleasure to read.