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.