The Result Of Boredom

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This is a poem about being bored, 

Because that's what I am right now. 

Jesus Christ, I'm going insane, 

If I can't unbore myself somehow. 

Please, do tell me what you're doing, 

Maybe I could get some ideas myself. 

Oh, you are listening to your music, 

Tell me what CD's are on your shelf. 

And now you're doing nothing, 

Huh, you're online, aren't you? 

Or maybe your just staring, 

At you computer screen too? 

Please, entertain me right now, 

Or I'll murder someone pretty soon. 

Wait, why are you not bored? 

Does that mean you're immune? 

Am I doomed to just sit like this, 

Leaning my head on my hand? 

Tell me all your dirty secrets, 

Say anything, it's a command! 

Please, can't you see my eyes, 

They're already gloomy and dry 

If it goes on like this any longer, 

I'm sure my poor soul will die. 

Dance for my, my slaves, 

Or rather, fall on your face. 

If you don't do anything, 

I'm going to watch a snail race. 

Wait, why is this rhyme so long, 

When it's about being bored? 

Ugh, I'm talking to myself, 

I feel like I'm ignored. 

So, please tell me something, 

Entertain me, you there! 

Why am I eternally bored, 

You know, it's so not fair. 

Lalalala, this rhyme sucks, 

Who the hell read this shit. 

But now I'm done writing. 

And I'm going to lose it. 

No less boredomness.

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