Boredom

Don't you wish boredom was a person,
A person you would have the pleasure of
not liking them
And telling them so, perhaps pinching their nose
Once in a while while in your sick perverted experiments
It would be fun, wouldn't it?
Because of that you'd stop being bored
And boredom would never want to be in your presence
Not until it goes to medical school
Becomes a surgeon
Then you'd gladly be in it's presence
Begging without saying a word
To save you
But if it's vengeful, it will remember the day you bullied it
And may derive pleasure in surgically cutting you to death
And you will have died of boredom
That's what your lifeless body will tell the pathologist