"Boredom kills…" I can see the truth in that.

Could it truly be that I am refusing to see what it is that right under my nose?

Does dust and do scales cloud my eyes,

And reduce everything around me to a disguise?

So much so that I am unable to see

All the opportunities that lay before me?

The summer has begun and by the eternal string of scratches on the prison walls of my mind, it has already gone on for far to long. The days drag on as the trees slowly grow endless shadows behind them, just as my feet, too, drag on as my spirit wears downs and leaves its pieces behind me. The warm summer nights and even warmer summer days refuse to bend to offer even the smallest of condolences by way of a break of the monotonous drone that is my day. It does not bother to offer a cool day, grayed by the rain, as a simple means by which to engage my brain.

Curse the morning sun that drags me into one more day of reaping the nothing that I sowed… The day wears on.

Lord forbid I eventually think pulling out my hair might be somewhat engaging…