I

I do not know how or why
I created such a boring
existence for myself
or even when it became so.
I know only that the boredom
has been there eating me up,
chewing at the edges of my soul
for so long now it has become an
intrinsic part of my character.
I am so comfortable in the sloppy,
baggy pyjama bottoms
of my boredom that not being bored
would now be so alien, like
the morning coming too soon
or squinting in the afternoon light
as you emerge from the cinema cocoon
after the 12.00 film.
I avoid the stress by choosing
the comfort of the boredom.
A kind of non-existence
in my comfortable,
sloppy, baggy pyjama bottoms
again.