You are sat there, in a pit
You are sitting in a pit
Its walls are damp
and they are damned bloody boring walls
The pit you are sat in
it is not as deep as it used to be
And these days there are the outlines of a ladder leading out of it
But can you be bothered`?
It is, after all, a damned bloody boring pit
It draws blood
It turns your energy to soil
Was it always there, outside of your own personal chemical composition?
I ask you, was it dug by eternally empty eyes?
Or is it your own creation?
Yours only?
Did it spring from laziness?
Yours only?
You are, after all, a damned bloody boring pit