"Blank" by D.H. Lawrence is a piece that Joyce Carol Oates called a "deadly little poem."
"At present I am a blank, and I admit it.
. . . So I am just going to go on being a blank, till some-
thing nudges me from within,
and makes me know I am not blank any longer."
"Boring" is a companion to "Blank" which seems darker yet.
Life, friends, is boring. We must not say so.
After all, the sky flashes, the great sea yearns,
we ourselves flash and yearn,
and moreover my mother told me as a boy
(repeatingly) "Ever to confess you're bored
means you have noInner Resources." I conclude now I have no
inner resources, because I am heavy bored.