"the inevitable" mrash up with "nothing"

here i am,
in front of my computer at 10 30 pm,
with nothing much to mime.

what of words?
nothing of fireballs and swords,
thus a poem.

the 'O's are coming to an end,
yet it seems like a evergrowing trend,
to be ever so bored.

excitement, you ask?
a word so foreign like an elephant's tusk,
never seen it.

so here i sit,
bored to tears as i type it,
a poem to express my tedium.

who am i to complain,
to say that my life's so very plain?
nothing will be heard anyway.

a boy awaiting the inevitable,
what will happen to him while he sits at his table?
nothing, i say, nothing at all.