Months turned into weeks,
Weeks turned into days,
like, so fast,
that you have no time at all,
to process all of these.

I was standing,
in front of the impending storm,
A fucking shitstorm,
I was wearied,
Scared, shitless.

Prepping,
Time was never on my side,
Distracted,
By the relentless struggle
Of self-control,
The fucking phone.

Papers flying here,
And there,
Stress piling up,
And up,
I am drowning,
And slipping away
From the grasp of
The purpose of life.

Drained,
Worn out,
I was still standing,
In front of the brewing storm,
Must not succumb prematurely,
Telling myself,
In my sorry face,
For procrastinating,
For not studying,
For not giving my best.

Dishing out the best that I could in this short span of time,
Approximately 20 days,
Or less,
I felt like a giant woke up inside me,
A clumsy, silly, giddy one.

Helpless,
I am thinking,
Overthinking,
Procrastinating,
Playing with my phone,
Escaping from the reality of books.
I am lazy,
Lazy as fuck,
I am stupid,
Stupid as fuck,
I am a piece of trash,
A trash indeed.

Capitalising on everything that I got,
Capturing everything that I could,
Giving all I got,
In this time limit,
Something in me told me,
“I can do this.”
But reality gave a generous knock on me,
“Fuck you.”
“Be real.”

“I’m fucked.”
“Literally, figuratively, metaphorically,”
“fuckingrealistically”
I just
Let my thoughts leash
Wrought everything it could to me,
“I nee…”
The weight was pulling me down,
Procrastination,
My phone,
My thoughts,
My disarrayed life,
Broken, torn,
Fucked.

“Fan-fucking-tastic.”

Identity

Craving for more? Down below:
Sick
Redefining Pain, Life, Stress.
I Need to, I Have to, I Must.
Overloading
Disgraceful
Contrast
Impromptu, Unprecedented.
Green

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