I been out on the stroll too damn long. Watching opportunity after opportunity pass by to get clean, to forget the pain I’ve seen, but here I am am once more – procrastinations whore.
I look at my worn, run down flesh, and each test I failed to redeem a dream that waited to propel me out of this life, but procrastination told me I’d be his wife – and I believed. That I’d always be pretty, a success, rich, but when you’re procrastinations bottom bitch, you are made to watch everything slip away, with nothing left for you.
What doth it profit a man to gain and lose a soul? It gets cold on this corner, waiting for dreams to come by, I
keep hoping for the change, I stand in the sleet, rain, wind, I befriend hope after tasting it on my lips. Chased the high of it forever, but it was more clever – knowing what I never would -catch up…
that procrastination wanted me strung out, and there is no doubt that I am
his top money maker – the opposite of a dream, the worst kind of hope fiend…
