Bored

Yearning for divine intervention A spontaneous enlightenment Merely for something, anything With which to occupy your thoughts Captivated by the sluggish hands of the drugged clock Searching, fervently searching Oh, only something to think upon Finding amusement in simple articles The pen suddenly intricately complex Recalling previously learned formulas To estimate the quantity of bumps and ridges Splattered and strewn across the ceiling Then returning, granting each mountain or cliff It's own individual count Praying earnestly for the return of our Lord Pleading, entreating for a rescue Drifting into phsycological elements To the mind's hollow hum The clock smears and blends Twists and disguises itself, becoming one with The stark white, texture thirsty wall You attempt to gnaw away your nails Yet, you find that they are gone Tearing out your hair Grinding your teeth to dust The hollow hum melts into a scream This horrible nightmare: Inescapable, inevitable You cannot break free You are forever doomed, because YOU'RE IN HISTORY CLASS Written November 21st, 2001 © on Nov 21 2001 06:41 AM PST   10 • 0 • 14