It clicks
It ticks
Away it slips
The sands fall through
The hand that grips
And every day
That you don’t do
Is one day less
That’s left for you
You’d pawn it all
To buy a cure
That can’t be bought
In any store
And every time you read this poem
You’ve lost a little more

i waited for tomorrow
because they said it wouldn’t rain
but the weathermen
is often wrong and by the time
tomorrow came
it thunderstormed all day

My neglected duties lie in a heap on the floor, my head hurts as I stare down at them. So many.
And time? Fleeting.
I receive no sympathy from time. I evoke no empathy from my own conscience, nor fantasy.
All the unspoken words I’ve neglected to voice lie gentle on the nightstand.
And I sleep sound.

Your wasted potential is just an issue that people who've wasted their own will pick on you for.

Surely, whatever you're doing right now should be worth at least thirty times more than what you're currently doing it for.

But if that number is zero then it doesn't make a difference.

It doesn't take a mathematician to know that smims maflori hindrance.

Around in a space
Suppose I'd be somewhere else
If I could
Though I can
And choose to think I can not
The brightness
The addiction
The cloudy, spacious cell
I'm in, and out
Of my mind
I'd cry if I'd see me from another's eyes
Sitting alone, addicted to loathing
Crimpled in procrastination
And wanting the world to align into place
When the words I write are what distract me tonight
Though seem to help the most
The work I should be submitting
Shouldn't be here
It should be to the tasks around me
That I neglect to hear
It should be to the aspirations
And to my bodies needs
Like cleansing my face
Drinking my tea
And oh yeah...
To stop ignoring that I have to ***.

No, not clever, just
Some truth.
We may all fall susceptible
To a procrastination loop

Without knowing places, my place it seems
Looking for the best, the attention.    a scheme
Writing for freedom, rightful, a taste
A taste of satifactury
A taste of bliss
A taste of all the wonderful things I miss
For looking in darkness where it can not be found
Searching for answers
The ones you don't know when they're found

Granulated light, from the bedroom abyss
I wrote this in hopes to remiss
The things about you that I almost see
Guess the open door to this cage gets the best of me

Too tired to see, with eyes wide open
I dropped the key, I closed the shackles
No need for this. Running too much a hassle
Staying put in my cage, so addicted to castles

I willingly stay in this dungeon
Just to remain closer to the stories
That were once told
To me, to us

I've had enough.
I know the story, the only way out
I lay down the screens
Technology, you are the dragon.
Guarding this castle, you keep me in.
A distraction, of many, I see the curse.
I will see you as a tool, to remove this thirst

We are who we are, what will be       will be
Appealing to the masses means nothing to me
Along in this journey, out of the castle
The mightiest stance.

Alone in the beacon,
I fulfill these plans
To leave the stories behind
Goodbye, the castle

The library smells
like ginger and coffee
and books that haven't seen the light of day since they were published

the sour scent of unopened pages
and the bittersweet commercialized coffee
diffuse throughout the building,

procrastination,
this is the smell of procrastination.

the air is swirling,
whipped along by the passers-by
its cool embrace is welcoming
gently blowing through me, onwards

cooling my mind as i brace
for the swell of tests and
tests and
tests

The coffee scent relinquishes,
as well as the task at hand,
and my dorm is calling me

Blood and bone be my witness,
The heart is struck with great an illness.
Waste, is her name.
The time of day would go away just as it came.

Seeing the hours tick
And hearing my watch’s click,
Would give me more reason
To accuse my mind of high treason.

Its only duty is to obey me,
And yet my ideas drift, as though they were on sea.
Strange is this mind.
Too often cruel, rather than kind.