My Place

I miss my place, my place to vent.
I used to go all the time before,
But I now in this tiny room am pinned.
I can't even walk out the front door.

Well, I could, but what's the point?
I have no vehicle, which could transport me.
So I stay here where all is boring
Instead of going to my place to be free.

I lay here on my bed, dreaming of my place,
Wishing I could just leave this boredom,
But again the man of boredom laughs in my face,
While I cry out silently for freedom.

I can only sit here and think of everything,
Which in itself becomes boring after a while.
I could just shut up and start sleeping,
But that wouldn't be reverant of my typical style.

So instead I'll stay here and complain all night
Since no one will ever hear my pathetic and childish cry.
So maybe the idea of sleep I should not fight,
Venting all my anguish. Yes, maybe I could try.

Back to list