Bored and slightly burned out

[elfs]

I'm having some kind of malaise,
a phase,
a depressive fit
when I don't give a spit,
it's just a fit.
I'll get over it.
It's so unfair,
I've got my hair,
and my job,
I shouldn't sob,
And yet I mope,
And try to cope
With my strange depression,
Ain't no confession
In this recession,
To give expression,
To my soul's supression.
I need a nap,
Or to write rap.
Bah, this poem's crap,
A trap,
A slap,
A mindless flap.
I'm sure I'll feel fine,
But I could use a sign,
That I'll soon be on track,
Able to take flack,
And ready to hack,
And unpack,
My soul's glassy glaze,
And shrug off this malaise.