Brittle boredom bourne in my bones
Soul aches from lack of breaks
Wish to wait in willful wanderlust
But time keeps on ticking
Sand keeps on trickling
Through the hourglass
As short seconds pass
Slippery sleepless slumber is sought not
Morose mood springs forth from innocuous air
Tis not just, tis not right, tis not fair
Alas
No cause to impart, no grand source of strife
To condone this weariness with my lovely lot in life
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