mr. boring face, unabridged

he used to seem
so interesting,
bu that
was months ago.
boredom consumes
his summer minutes,
like a middle-aged
fat family
on the dollar menu
at McDonalds.
his movenemts
features
clothes
verbs
eyes and
hair,
boring.
he radiates b-o-r-i-n-g,
he feeds on it.
even his
feeble attempts
to end the
plague of boredom
are boring.
how he eats,
walks,
talks,
stands,
vaguely stares at me,
boring.
his violating,
penetrating
laughter.
it doesn't
sting and
hurt me
the way
i
hurt
him.
and i'm not sorry.
not one little
tiny bit.
everyone's opinion
mirror's mine.
he's boring. and
he stole two months
of my life
that i'm never getting
back.
unless i eat right
and exercise.
but not if he
speaks in my
general direction
again.
i just may
die
of boredom.
i bet he's
capable of
inflicting that
on other people.
even if
he doesn't mean to.
that's just how
boring
boring
boring
he is.
see.
he's three times
more boring than
the Average
American,
if taht Average
American
is having an off day.
it's the same
conversations
and topics
multiple times.
every day.
apparently it's
humanly possible
to be that
boring.
did i push
him into
this boring rut
of numb feelings?
no.
but if i did,
that's hysterical.
isn't it endearing?
boring.
 
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