more poetry.. yay.

Boredom

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To be bored is to know torture,
Gnawing at my own skin for kicks,
The need to feel something oppressive and forceful,
And the growing fear of accepting it.

It is unlike sadness in the sense that it creeps,
It doesn't jump out, or spring upon you,
It slowly crawls inside of you, into your bones it seeps,
Then it flows from your pores, filling your tomb.

It isn't like anger as it's appearance is gradual,
It won't scream, you'll barely even hear it,
Until it shrieks, becoming something actual,
Then it will tear you apart, at your flesh it will rip.

It is most like the fear, the fear you get from living,
A slow death that suffocates, not stabs,
Until it spreads, permeates your entire being,
And it takes all that you have.

In a sense, it is comforting,
Having something you can rely on,
Feeling it slowly enveloping,
im so tired.