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Procrastination: The death of meNeither joy nor pain bring me satisfaction,I drown in a pool of procrastination,Every task an illustrious feat,Unable to move; to breathe,Stuck in a time when life was easy,Whereas mere thoughts now make me queasy.And so I sit,Rhyming words,When reality calls,With chains and spurs.
Alive, But Not LivingI run my hand,Over the ink you etched,In an attempt to understand,To help, to catchA glimpse of my mind,So scattered and frail,Yet no one can know,What it is likeTo be me, aliveBut not living.