Death is a fine-tooth comb

The hair of my soul is being brushed with boredom's fine-tooth death.

My weakness is getting stronger

My weakness is getting stronger by the minute.  Soon my weakness will be strong enough to consume me and control me with really strong weakness. 

time is melting

Time is melting like an ice cream cone on a really hot surface.  The surface of my mind is like oil.  I can't see through it, but I know it's there.

 

Soon all things will melt into desperation and solitude.

 

I cry for freedom, but my cries are melting into silence. 

 

All the melted substances are re-melting into a newly depressing substance of darkness. 

 

...and guilt....

escape?

Do I see an opportunity to escape, or is that just my mind dying a slow death of boredom?

 

and darkness..

My Mind

My mind, which once was a once was, is now not what I can think of. 

I've seen the future and it's not right now

Oh sweet future. Why must you tempt me with your promises of flying cars and helper monkeys? I am but a humble soul living in the present, thinking about the past, and longing for you dear future. Please promise me you will always be there. Also, who wins the Super Bowl next year? Just curious.

The broad stroke of boredom

The broad stroke of boredom has painted darkness over the windows to my soul.  I can't see out.  Is it raining?  Is that what I hear?  Or is it monkeys throwing what monkeys throw best?