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Sunday Night

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I told myself it would be done
But procrastination won
Why now when the night is young?
The question that had rung

The clock, always ticking
Time, always passing
The deadline races toward me
There is nowhere to flee

Should have done it before
Followed through with what I swore
But the best time seemed later
To the promise made, a traitor

A victim of temptation
Or deserving of deprivation
Which one am I?
The realization comes with a sigh

Frantically working in desperation
The potent power of procrastination
I am stricken with this curse
Whether it be for better or worse





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