Your Poetry Dot Com

I got nothing to do,
I got nothing to say,
Bored till the end,
Of each passing day.

The books are askew,
Covered in dust on a shelf,
And I can’t go outside,
Alone by myself.

The swing set in the yard,
Rusts from under use,
The flowers dying,
From my mom’s abuse.

I got nothing to do,
Nothing to say,
Bored till the end,
Of each passing day.

I’m alone in this house,
With only my voice,
The only sound I hear,
And that’s nothing to rejoice.

I got nothing to do,
Nothing to say,
Bored till the end,
Of each passing day.

This poem is Copyright ยฉ Mild_Tempest