to do today
or leave till tomorrow -
a simple thought
that only requires
my procrastination.

a sigh of tiredness
hoping that it could
only be done
on a day that's
not today.

a wish of regret,
coming on the last minute
of when something
could have been done
before.

a mere idea
to be deepened over time
after quite a while
when i did it
not today.

having so many
questions, questions, and more
that will be
answered
never.

then
i think to myself,
i can do it today
[ but i can also do it
not today. ]

Coffee.
Cigarette.
A little white pill.
(I take it for you)

Someone should water
the basil on the windowsill.

Tomorrow.

So the cold didn’t last beyond February, like how
You thought you could finish that poem in January.
Now you say you would for sure complete your list by April,
But you can’t even get yourself to make it through March.
And before you know it, June will ask you out for another date in school
And you’re still on vacation, playing games with May.
Then by August you’d be broken again,
And you’ll blame it all on July.
So you’ll laugh with your friends as you await October,
And hold on to excuses throughout September
Until you have December all to yourself once more,
To right the things you thought November could change.
But then it’s February waking you up in the morning again,
Knowing that you kept January up all night for
A new year’s resolution that is up to what only April can give
And March could never lend,
And you couldn’t buy on June
Because you invested it all on May,
Only to be double crossed by August,
And turned down by July when you ask for help.
So you place all your hopes on October
And refuse September’s offer
Because you trust December to be there for you
In case November leaves you on hold again.
Now it’s February calling for the last time, and you finally pick up.
You stopped dialing January for good
And you realize you don’t have to ring April too.
This time you know better, so you look forward to see March
And decide you’re no longer hiding from June
Because you plan to come to terms with May,
So by August you won’t look back anymore
And things will fit perfectly in July.
And when October comes, you won’t even notice it
Because you’d be so busy running through every day of September
That you will no longer remember how last December let you down
And how much November used to matter;
Because today you already know what February did not have to
Remind you and which you never actually needed January for.

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