I want to do it

But I don’t do it.

I hope to do it,

I know I won’t do it.

 

My life of procrastination,

Is believed to be an abomination,

By those involved in my creation.

I will never get spiritual emancipation.

 

This life of procrastination,

Although kills the time I have,

Has enabled my imagination,

To come out of dingy cave.

 

I think to do it,

I go to do it,

But they already did it,

Before I start to do it.

 

Those involved in my creation,

Demand justification,

Lament in dissatisfaction,

While I look away in distraction.

 

I want to question myself,

But I procrastinate that as well.

When they compare me to my father himself,

I think he would be better off in hell.

 

Those involved in my creation,

Have disowned me in frustration,

Only to have their peace in one piece.

While I fall into many a piece.

 

My mind is compulsive,

In things that I do.

No one knows my condition,

I can’t do two things in one session.

 

So be it then.

I behold the mighty pen.

I shall write my problems in vain,

As long as I don’t become insane.