Poem submission by asimplenobody
From the bowels of the dark room
came “I’ll do it later.”
Its source, the quiet mumble of
Its body smelled of dirt and grime,
its hair was unshaven,
the deep black seemed to seep out from
its ungodly haven.
The TV flickered COPS reruns,
frozen food for dinner -
would it get the work done in time,
this great slothful sinner?
The screen was half-filled with some text
of incomplete paper
from long before, when its focus
was so prone to taper.
The mind lost track and did wander
Its thoughts, they were scattered
It was busy scanning Tumblr;
Its right mission - shattered.
So say a prayer for the writer
of this piece so pallid
for The Procrastinator was
author of this ballad.