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by Angela Nuzzo

Boredom clings to every wall.
It surrounds me where I stand.
It grapples with the curtains, pulling
like dark, demonic hands.

I can smell the boredom in the room
like an old and moldy shoe.
It permeates into each corner.
There isn't much to do.

Every time I take a breath
boredom seeps into my veins.
It drips from puddles on the ceiling.
On the floor, it leaves new stains.

As this boredom enters me,
it feels like iron feet.
These iron feet produce a throb
that never changes beat.


Author's Note: Written in high school - 15+ years ago. But I can still feel those feet sometimes.

Posted on 01/11/2007
Copyright © 2023 Angela Nuzzo

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