Fucking Winter.

A gray, dreary day
Calm
Not accompanied by peace
But rather with malaise
Ennui
and boredom
Intolerable frustration
With a lack of motivation
My soul has taken on its bleak environment
Using the snow as a blanket
And freezing up
This time, however
There are no circular white 125 mg lifeboats
For quick escape from this sinking ship

Clinging to memories of a recent past
When I confessed
To myself
To him
And to the universe
That I had found renewed hope
Which had escaped me for quite a while
It seems but only a dream
As most things do
And I'm tempted to ask him
If this is one of those things
That really happened
Or if I merely dreamt it

Prodded earlier
To try to figure out
What I was going to do with my life
I gave out half-assed, vague
Insincere responses
Because this all-consuming ennui
Makes me only hope
That life ends soon
Tired, bored, frustrated
And wondering even if
I had those horrific little lifeboats
Would I even have the energy
To paddle anywhere?