The Man who Procrastinated

There once was a man.
Who had a terribly short attention span,
Due to never wanting to work.

He would procrastinate
because he didn’t like the stress,
of having to overcome the anxiety
of all the work he had to address.

Yet everyday, the more he procrastinated,
The more he felt self-discriminated.
By his own laziness.
By his own guilt.

And so he wallowed in self pity,
Everyday feeling really shitty.
As he could never manage to stop the cycle
That was making his life so frightful.

The more he avoided his work,
The more stressed he became.
And due to getting ever-increasingly stressed,
He would ever-increasingly avoid his work.

And then the man died, unfufilled and full of wasted potential.

The End

The Closet Door

 I’m sure I close the closet door alot more than I ever open it.

This thought perplexed me as I reversed my car, headed to another monotonous day of work. I was a single 24 year old, who lived alone, didn’t have any pets and very few friends. Strangely enough though, the closet door wasn’t the only odd thing that had been happening over the last couple of weeks. I found many a thing not where I left it. The TV was on and on mute when I came back home the other day. My chicken sandwich had disappeared from the fridge this morning.

 What could possibly be causing this?

I dwelled on it as I continued my drive to work, and then  suddenly a solution came to mind.

 Screw it. I’m gona find out once and for all.

I slammed on my brakes, bringing the car to  a screeching halt. I did quick U turn and start heading back home. A few minutes later I pulled into my driveway, stopped my car and quickly walked to the door. Unlocking it and closing it behind me, I walked upstairs and into my bedroom only to be greeted by a familiar sight.

It had happened again.

The closet door was open.

I decided to put my plan into action. Closing the closet door first, I hurried over to my bedside drawers and opened the top draw, pulling out a black small bag. Unzipping it, I pulled out my video camera. I turned it on and positioned it on my bed, making sure that it can see the closet. I pressed the record button and then carefully positioned some dirty clothes over it, obscuring it from view, yet making sure that the lens wasn’t blocked either.

My plan accomplished, I headed back downstairs, locked the door and hopped back into my car. Sure I was going to be late for work, but this was worth it.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The day passed like any other day at work.

Paperwork, paperwork, and more paperwork. Boss comes by to check on my progress, and starts asking questions. Yes Sir. No Sir. Three bags full sir.

Toilet.

Coffee break.

Repeat.

But what really was on my mind the whole day, was that video camera lying on my bed.

What will the video camera catch on film?

The thought plagued me as the hours slowly and painfully inched by. The hands of clock finally struck five, after what seemed like an eternity, and my day at work was finished. I walked very quickly through the office, needing to get home as soon as possible. I could see out of the corner of my eye that some of my co-workers were raising their eyebrows in amusement at the hurriedness of my pace, but I didnt care. I needed to see what that video camera recorded.

Workcard punched.

Crowded elevator.

Underground carpark.

Car keys in my hand.

Unlock my car.

Engine started.

Pedal to the metal.

My car shot out of the underground carpark and onto the road. I was probably speeding now that I think of it, but at the time, speeding was the least of my worries.

What will the video camera catch on film?

I pulled onto the onramp for the motorway, it usually being the fastest way home.

Fuck.

I had forgotten about the traffic. Cars lined the motorway, slowly inching along every few seconds. Everyone was trying to do what I was doing… Trying to get home.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The sun had set by the time I finally pulled onto the street that I lived on. It had taken me a good hour and a half to get home through that congested motorway, and to make things even worse, it seemed like the power was out for the whole suburb.

Stupid electricity companies doing work at the worst times. Typical.

I pulled into my drive, hopped out and almost ran to my front door. Unlocking it and closing it behind me,  I flicked on the light switch. Nothing happened. I let out a heavy sigh, as I remembered that the power is down. Stumbling in the dark, my hands outstretched feeling for the walls, I finally make it to my kitchen cupboards. My hand grasped blindly in the dark, trying to feel for the box of matches and  candles that I knew was there in the top shelf. Or at least, was meant to be in there.

Please. Please, still be here…Aah, got them.

Finally feeling them, I grabed them both and after a few minutes managed to start lighting candles. Leaving one candle flickering by the front door, I lit another one and my way upstairs. To my bedroom. Stepping through the doorframe, I squinted trying to see in the low light whether the closet door was open or closed.

Thank God.

The closet door was closed. Just as I left it. This, at least was a good sign. Heading over to the bed, I pulled of the clothes and looked for my video camera. It was also just where I left it. It was still even recording. I stopped and then saved the recording, and then I hit play.

I was glued to the screen, expecting to see some ghost to appear on the video recording.  A minute passed. Nothing happened. Then two, then three. I started fast forwarding it. Still nothing.

Maybe there was nothing after all.

Then suddenly something flashed across the screen in the video recording. I held my breath in anticipation , but  the fast forwarding was too fast and I couldn’t see anything but a blur. I immediately rewound it and pressed play, and what I saw made my body freeze in terror.

A man had walked into my bedroom, opened the closet door, got inside, and closed the closet door.

HOLY FUCK!

Screw ringing the police! I have to get out of my house.. NOW!

Still holding the video camera, my legs lept into action. I raced out of my bedroom and down the stairs. Almost skidding on the floor, I turned while running, heading for the front door.  And then I froze.

There was a man blocking the door.

In his hands lay my metal baseball bat. A grin escaped his lips as he uttered but a single sentence.

"Did you think you were alone in the dark?"

The Bittersweet Taste of Love

Your beauty is that of myths and legends,

So rare and precious that men would fight over you.

For you have become the essence of all things captivating,

In a way, only you could do.

You have stolen my attention,

Like a thief in the night.

And my knees grow weak,

Every time you enter my sight.

With eyes like jewels,

That lure my gaze.

Your skin so soft,

You never cease to amaze.

I find being with you is like a drug,

An emotional high that never descends.

Every time you glance or at me or give me a hug,

I want it to never end.

Your laugh like the rain,

A pleasant sound to my ears.

Yet I watch in fascination,

As you fill me with all the fear,

Of all the things I could wrong,

When you’re next to me, right here.

For I would pronounce my undying love for you,

If only you would hear.

But now as you have ignored me,

My day seems as black as night.

Your light is gone from my world,

Vanishing far away from my sight.

And yet I would cross the farthest ocean,

Just to be by your side,

To hear you say my name.

With me you could confide,

All your secrets, all your pain.

All your hurts you want to hide.

But alas, it wasn’t meant to be.

So here I will eternally bide,

On the other side of the farthest ocean,

Waiting for you to be here,

By my side.