Suffering a sufferance
Internally boredom must feel like a punishment
externally an ennui looks so much like self abuse
Boredom, you do it to yourself and then in ignorance perceive
that slight to you is done. You are somehow set upon
by an unseen forces, chastising notion of unknown possibilities
in walled universes of unmet outcome.
On tip toes voyeurism tugs the ear and pulls the eye
to spy activity in every locality save within.
The neighbour topless bathing on a hedge-less lawn
so immaculate it is itself a boredom
Tedium irks the conscious.
Bile churns stomach juices to an ach
that makes inert pain more acute,
a doing you to self inflict.
In self quarrel a mirrors phantoms hurl admonishment
for all of the undone doings that uncouple from possibility.
Guilt and shame collude and conspire
you perceive a pillaging stripping away interests attachment
faceless tormentors ringless digits notes the loneliness
ones predicament encourages.
Absent occupation and distraction raise circumstance
of not knowing what to do like adolescent hormones
not knowing which chaos to calm.
Hope for bitter pages when a cover appears sweet
dissatisfaction is an empty meal that bloats you.
as boredom is a bloated you that is empty.
Suffering, or sufferance of self loathing?