Death By Boredom

Last breaths and heaving sighs,

Pernicious deaths and howling

Cries. All for what? For death.

Some shed happy tears and some 

A stoic smile; has anyone

Thought of other deaths for a 

While? Sitting on a dusty chair,

Within idle walls and humid 

Air, death by boredom seems a

Prospect only fair. A rusty guitar

Plucked to death, a sofa with

Heaps of things never cared, a t.v

Sitting mournful on a stand without

The power to speak idiocy- A perfect

Recipe for a bored's broth today.

A dining table never dined on

Scoffs at me. For the gadgets

Sitting on it is its only use.

Glad to know, these objects don't

Have a mind and reading

They can't lest one day the t.v 

Starts reciting Tennyson's Ulysses,

"How dull it is to pause. To rust 

Unburnish'd and not shine in use."

What a catastrophe that might be. As

For me boredom is the chalice

And monotony is the wine

I drink. Its not Pinet Noir but,

Serves the purpose nonetheless.

Getting drunk with it and puking

Inactivity, and all energy spent

Inthe splitting hangover. Only

If boredom and immobility could pay,

I would employ Rockafella

To his utter dismay.

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