I hate boredom

Today I am bored. When I am bored, I think. When I think, I self-criticise. When I self-criticise, I get depressed. When I get depressed, I spend too much time online, write random stuff, and get unerring urges to stab people and listen to REM (although usually not at the same time).
However, one of the minor upsides of being on a downer is that anything I have previously written whilst being depressed ceases to seem mildly embarrassment, so I feel like I might use this opportunity to publish one of my better pieces. Hey, it might even be good:

The clock, ticks
Tocks, Ticks,
Ticking and clicking
Amidst an unhearing roar
Louder, stronger,
Sharper, clearer
And still no-one hears
Much less cares anymore
So softer, smoother,
Quieter, slower
Maybe it’s just
Something to be ignored

But each time it dulls
Someone screams they want more

The figure, walks
Step after step
Wandering through deserts,
Uncertain battlegrounds
Shapes shimmer
Sands shift
The landscape revolves
Its falseness around
He plods on
Scans the landscape beyond
Searching for signs
That his trail is sound

His unending search
For the mirage he once found

The beast, strains
Hauls once again
Weighed down by baggage
Of another life’s pain
A slip, a step
So much effort goes in
Such a treacherous surface
So little is gained
Eyes spot a prize
Is it leap of faith time?
Heart fights with head
Reason must win again

There is too much to lose
And yet so much to gain

A scream of frustration
Turns to silence and tears
Eyes remain dry
But the soul weeps its tears

Hope may spring eternal
I may be close this time
But still I must wait
To be truly alive

There you go, there’s my shot. Now that you have had the next few year’s guideline amount of metaphor to get confused by, I bid you farewell and a Happy Christmas

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