Twas,
I born,
to be bored?
Born,
to exist,
as noise?
As,
the simplicity,
of a cacophonous existence?
For,
as I look upon,
this earth.
As,
I think about these,
mindless beings.
These,
hollow entities,
absent internal energy.
I wonder,
how do they breathe?
How,
do they continue,
to be?
So,
negative,
their useless minds.
The sound,
they produce,
becomes benign.
As if,
they shall never stomach,
beings truly being,
alive.
As if,
such has never met,
their eye.
Bored,
be I,
whilst tethered to such.
Bored,
be I,
as an american.
For,
these beings,
seem to seek only,
to die,
in the morning...
©yungb123
Y