A Waste of Time

Standard

Bland. Everything is bland.
Bland and white.
Bland and depressing and white.

Not even girls excite me,
and let’s be real, few of them want
anything to do with me anyway.

Maybe I need a different haircut.
Maybe I should stop being so shy
(I thought shy

and awkward was in?
Maybe I’m thinking of 2008).
The internet is a drag.

My house is a drag.
The hyperactive ticking
of the keyboard is a drag.

Cigarettes don’t roll themselves,
but I’m hoping they figure
it out soon because I’m too

disinterested to move.
I blame this town.
All there is to do is shop and eat

(Shopping and eating?
That’s the American Way!).
Fuck, given the lack of activity,

it’s no wonder the kids
are on drugs.I have some, I guess.
I could partake. But this

also involves motion,
and all I want to do is simply
wrap up in a blanket and hide away

until something interesting happens.
But I have bills to pay.
Student debts from

an incomplete education.
What a waste of time.
Sort of like this poem.

-r. miller

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