Suffering a sufferance

Internally boredom must feel like a punishment

externally an ennui looks so much like self abuse

Boredom, you do it to yourself and then in ignorance perceive

that slight to you is done. You are somehow set upon

by an unseen forces, chastising notion of unknown possibilities

in walled universes of unmet outcome.

On tip toes voyeurism tugs the ear and pulls the eye

to spy activity in every locality save within.

The neighbour topless bathing on a hedge-less lawn

so immaculate it is itself a boredom

Tedium irks the conscious.

Bile churns stomach juices to an ach

that makes inert pain more acute,

a doing you to self inflict.

In self quarrel a mirrors phantoms hurl admonishment

for all of the undone doings that uncouple from possibility.

Guilt and shame collude and conspire

you perceive a pillaging stripping away interests attachment

faceless tormentors ringless digits notes the loneliness

ones predicament encourages.

Absent occupation and distraction raise circumstance

of not knowing what to do like adolescent hormones

not knowing which chaos to calm.

Hope for bitter pages when a cover appears sweet

dissatisfaction is an empty meal that bloats you.

as boredom is a bloated you that is empty.

Suffering, or sufferance of self loathing?