In ways of procrastination, that I always do,

In my mind, a place begins to brew,

A place, guilt-free, where I can relax,

And where the security is always lax.

But my body burns with silent resentment,

Against all odds, I accept this contentment,

Hoping that I’ll find a way to conform to,

The question left unanswered of what to do.

But structure and more, I repeat and revise,

I’m conditioning my brain to work like a device.

A machine or not, I choose to strive,

The only thing matters it to stay alive.


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