Procrastination is poison.

I tell myself I'd get it done, in the next hour. The next hour. Again, the next hour. 

I'm addicted to this fruitless routine,

like an alcoholic,

tomorrow will be a better day.

Except that tomorrow never becomes a better day.

Tomorrow is today, yesterday, the week before, everyday.

Tomorrow is the same,

because I do nothing,

and misunderstands it for something.

Tomorrow I will realize today was nothing.

Tomorrow, I will do something, again.

It takes me nowhere.

It's like a road trip simulation. 

Too little time to use, too much time to lose.

An abundance of things to do,

an abundance of things I forced myself to do,

as an excuse.

I do not want the real thing.

I do empty things coated with a myriad of colors,

because reality is grey.

I know it will hurt me someday,

but still I face the other way.

Procrastination is poison.