Bored

Bored so I went outside,
and now I’m bored on the ground.
So bored that I could die,
wish my boredom was profound.
Could write ‘bored’ on the walls,
but cleaning is so boring.
Would write it in my book,
but the cover starts me snoring.
Was bored all by myself,
now I’m just bored with my dog.

More bored than my bookshelf,

this whole boredom thing’s a fog.
I’m bored of my Netflix,
bored of doing any work.
Bored of politics,
bored of the whole universe.
At least I’m not in pain,
broken, defeated, or sad.
I’m thankful for boredom.
My present could be so bad.