Procrastination

By
The blank page taunts me
With thoughts of creative things I could write
During the time I was staring blindly
On this haunting sheet of white

I hold the pen tightly on my palm,
Hoping for words to spill out,
Some inspiration, some ideas,
For me to write about.

Cooped up in the musty room,
I long for air and light,
But instead I'm stuck here for now
And will be until midnight.

I could be ouside with friends,
I could be getting my freedom,
But my thoughts are glued to the paper
As I must finish this dreaded poem.

I hear footsteps down the hall.
My heart beats faster as I ponder my terrible fate.
My parents want to have a word with me.
Oh, if only I didn't procrastinate!





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