Freedom is the urge
That breaks out inside of us that makes us want to run.
An unseen Parkour of hands and feet.
Covering the threshold of walls and windows.
An key to an apartment
Of untold potential.
Seen as a window,
A causal gaze.
Things once seen as 3-D now seen  2-D.
Coming to the realization of just who we really are.
The desire of choosing to see things as brand new
A stillness of sorts.
A new brand of simple.
Holding on to a rail debating on whether or not to jump or hold on for a moment longer.
I.
The infinite compliment of the heart.
Choosing instead to run escaping,
The unfortunate pleasure of being chained in schizophrenia.
Gorillaz beating an untamed drum.
A constant pound, hands and feet becoming the ultimate form of expression.
The scuffle of feet over the sound of concrete.
Lost somewhere in the city.
Gorillaz beating an untamed drum.
******* my thumbs are up.
Unpaused ****** expressions, Revealing perhaps way too much.
A cup of cold noodles quietly waiting wholeheartedly.
Next to the gorillaz loudly stating otherwise.
Them.
The painkiller to an over twisted wrist,
Procrastination is a *****

Why do I...
Rely on tomorrows,
Loathe in secret sorrows.
Why do I...
Pretend like this time is borrowed,
As if this isn't the real thing...
It's practice, that must be what I think.

Why do I, when I know it's not true?

I should be ******* sleeping
I have a trip tomorrow
But like the regretting *** that I am
I'm going to be in sorrow

go take out the trash, a little voice says
no, you reply
I'm comfortable right now
lying here on my bed in my pyjamas
but you have to, the voice insists
not now, you reply
I'll do it later

it goes on like this
it happens every day now
but you always answer
later
later now becomes much much later
you're getting more and more skilled
at ignoring the little voice

every once in a while it pikes up again
take out the trash
but you don't listen
you're too comfortable
too lazy
too tired
too anxious
too hurt
too anything
too everything

you never take out the trash
until years later
you have to vacate the space you're living in
and the suffucating amount of trash you've accummulated
becomes quite obvious
and now
you have to take out the trash
so you go and take out the trash
and you go
and you go
and you go
no end in sight
until you start to wonder
if it will ever stop
or if you're now trapped
in some kind of eternal hell
of taking out the trash

and you start resenting that little voice
that now utters something that sounds a lot like
I told you so
you should have listened to me
yes, you should have listened to that little voice

so now you start resenting yourself
for not listening to the voice
but the one question that now insistently nags at you
that won't leave you alone anymore
if you managed to hoard such a huge amount of trash
by just never taking it out
what does your mind look like
you've never taken out the trash there either
and you nervously ponder
how it will end
the day you will have to vacate that space

why do we still do it
when we know nothing good comes out of it?

you should do it now
but i don't want toooooooo
get it over with
i'll do it laterrrrrrrrr
don't push it back another hour, another day
i'll find time to do ittttttttt

and eventually, we all just become addicted to it
and those who can quit by themselves,
are the ones who are truly talented.

Ill save you for when I get back
Monsterous potential for now I lack
But maybe just a little scratch
Of this bug bite so I can relax

No, it only makes it worse
A hot spoon on my skin could take the curse
Or maybe if I rid the flesh as well as sin
Give it up for the mess I'm in

Like God, I give and take
To myself, this creative stake
But block these things that must align
So I can stay within the lines

When the reasons seem so empty
and expectations seem so grand
it is hard to find the courage
to satisfy demand

When the beck and call is silent
and the path before is gone
it is too much to just continue
although I know I must go on

All along I have been searching
an easy way to have it all
never trying just to do it
too afraid that I would fall

And now as I grow older
My time is running out
and if I do not do it now
than I will have to do without.

I can't seem to make up my mind
whether to go to sleep
or write a line
I take so long to make a move
I tend to grind into a groove.

I make a choice
but, do not act.
I use my voice, but let it crack.
I know what to do, but I do not
and so, I always seem to miss my shot.

Procrastination, Indecision, Laziness and Pride
Together, they conspire
to keep me down
and locked inside.

I have come close so many times.
I tell myself I'll see it through.
But, then in the fury of the moment
I always seem to miss my cue.

But, it isn't timing
or dependence
that keeps me waiting for someday.
Its the knowing I can do it
If I could
just get on my way.