The Haunting of Pending Things

The gentle slip, the slow descent, A day of time not wisely spent. The motivation,once so bright, Retreats and fades into the night. A numbing blanket, soft and deep, The promises I cannot keep. I hide from tasks that I must face, And love this slow,unproductive space. The cycle turns, a vicious wheel, A pain that starts to feel so real. Yet I embrace this wasteful grace, And hide from time,and from my place. The pending tasks, like monsters, grow, A haunted,ever-building woe. They watch me from the growing pile, And mock me with their silent smile. I cannot climb, I cannot start, This prison I have built my heart. I miss the self I used to know, But can't let go,and can't let go. Yet in the gloom, a tiny spark, A chance to leave this endless dark. Not with a roar,but with a sigh, To simplytry, and simply try. To break one brick from off the wall, To stand again,though I may fall. To trade the numb for what is true, And build my motivated self anew.