I’ll Get to It Never
“I will do it later” is carved into my skull like a promise I broke in the door
I stack deadlines to myself like junk mail, unread
piling higher on the floor, Learn six-string
clean the house, call that friend, fix your life
write that album you swear is in your bones
Instead I stare at a blinking cursor and a dusty fretboard while the hours pile up like stones.
I am not proud of this
not bragging about being a walking delay
It is just every path forward feels like walking barefoot on glass
so I stay
They shout words like “potential” and “waste” like I have not screamed them at myself until my throat tore raw
They act like I am choosing this just to piss them off
As if I enjoy being stuck in this crawl.
You call it sloth like a cartoon
like I am just some lazy beast on the floor
You do not see the war in my chest every time I even think about touching the door.
I will get to it never, that is how it feels some days
Procrastination is not just lazy
it is a thousand tiny graves
Every task I skip is another future I shovel under the bed
Pile of futures rotting while I lie here instead.
I set alarms, make plans, write lists
break tasks into manageable chunks like the books all say
But when the moment hits
my body goes on strike and my brain slides sideways
I watch myself not do the thing I have been hyping for a month like I am stuck behind my eyes in my own skull
Screaming “move
you useless fuck” at a body that just lies there
still.
If you want to help, stop telling me it is easy
stop saying “just start
” Every time you say that it feels like you are calling me a liar to my heart
Sit with me in the mess, in the stall
in the guilt that tastes like rust
Then maybe I might stand up once Because someone did not treat my stuckness like dust.
I will get to it never, that is how it feels some days
Procrastination is not just lazy
it is a thousand tiny graves
Every task I skip is another future I shovel under the bed
Pile of futures rotting while I lie here instead.
When they say I wasted talent, wasted chances
wasted breath and wasted years
They will never see the futures Buried under All these unfinished gears.