I'll write this tomorrow

Procrastination,
My fair lady,
Why must you compel me
To worship you
When I have so many and so urgent things to do?
Fine. So maybe it is not your fault.
So I'm just lazy. Okay.
But you are so tempting.
Lulling me away
from so many chores
(Or a death by boredom - who can really tell?)
Sometimes you offer me the prettiest of pictures,
Sometimes the funniest of videos,
Other times merely my bed and the ceiling,
But more often books.
Beautiful, beutiful books.
So why should I scold you
For taking my time
When those are the hours
I most lovely spent?

Deadlines besiege me, as stress pennoned limbs
ache for action, yet, procrastination consumes me.
I know relief will come, when: task complete
I can truly unbend, sit back and relax.

Yet, brain benumbed, I irradiate in a background
of autogenous anxiety. I stare through the TV,
study the grain on the page I'm not reading,
attempt to study the air.

Until, deadlines eve, when stress breaks free
staining my mouth, and eyes and senses, bitter
body, shocked, resuscitated
and frantic activity commences.

So how about I do tumblr

And you do my assignment

And then we meet later

And drink wine

To counter the caffeine

That buzzes now

And how about M--- come too,

And A--- mayhap,

And we have a merry old’

Delving into the reckless

(Delving into the wreckless)

So how about it then?

A steaming mug between my hands
Paper littered around me
I sit, forehead creased,
in my balcony.
I see the sky and the ground
and I'm simply floating in between.

Rolling a pen
between my fingers
watching the hills
they look greener than ever
I'd like to sleep
I'd like to read
But homework does
bind me.

This is procrastination,
level: extreme.