arrival of inspiration and motivation melts icily in my brain and the work i've been consciously putting off makes its way tenderly through my thoughts

it weaves its way amongst the dark despondence and the airy nostalgia and the bittersweet memories

it knocks gently on the preoccupied walls of my brain and squeezes comfortingly into a zip-file

and i, i of course take it into consideration

determined fingers archive the work into different departments of a colourful timetable, each hour dripping with productivity

and even though the colours—bright pinks and subdued yellows scrape through the procrastination and create a soft gateway of incitement

i fail
i fail consciously

i look at all the work i haven't done and i wait still, i wait for time to run out and for panic to settle in and i don't know why i do it but i