i get bored, easily

I hadn't written a poem in a while because doing so makes me feel like a fraud. but anyways, i suppose i like crime, cuz here's another one:

The bike

Drums, strumming away the
leaves in the front yard where a bike
is stolen.
It was his first bike, the drummer's
and now his son's, or was.
It went away with the leaves
to a place where forgotten things die.
He drums a new tune to soothe
the boy's tears.
He cries a lot.
Every time a leaf falls, he cries.

i suppose i haven't been writing here because i think it's wasted time, but, again, i unfortunately like wasting time. that's why i'm still here. not sure if i've grown much lately. i'm still pessimistic, overly negative, and prone to depression, anxiety, worry and fear. i don't feel sorry for myself at all though. these have all been my choices. i just hope i start making some good choices soon, otherwise i'll be here forever...