......And so I butchered boredom, I slit its pale throat, and watched it bleed, the colors and the bubbles already alleviating its curse.
It had dogged me far too long, thinking that sheer apathy would prevent me from shaking free of its clasp.
Oh, it fought me, with bland cliches, and some lame excuse on how the world needed it, but I unsheathed my pen, its fountain tip sharp, and severed it's sing-song jugular. At last I had conquered dead space. with a Pilot pen.
Then I turned with a yawn, and wrote you this poem.