Staring at this phantom freedom,
which I have built like a kingdom,
much larger than the super dome,
with bricks of poison and tantrum,
lacking real architectural wisdom,
with tons of tears wetting my clay face,
blessed with abundant yet lacking a dime,
body and soul filled with lots of sadness,
feeling the world emptiness and loneliness,
existence seems so elusive and passive,
nothingness my immediate companion,
echoes of compliment much like complaining,
stuffing myself with deep black coffee,
trying to make sense of this life vanity,
quietness drumming loud in my ears,
weirdness darting across my weary body,
my comprehension tainted and stained,
trying all things in everything marathon,
finding nothing in anything dark tomb,
still facing this autumn massive dungeon,
because I have remodelled this freedom of mine,
into something basically known as Boredom.