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…


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