time stacks up these
forlorn duties,
beauty is lost to the
cold, wrenched hand
of procrastination.

drift in soft dreams
of traveling down
to those streets
where everything
seemed immaculate.

but that too, gets
lost in procrastination.
this bleak routine turns
into the black serpent
of habit.

winding itself through
the veins, poisoning
the heart, the mind,
the soul and the trinity
dies.