Stigmata of MY own doings
This is not a poem,, I'm by far, the most "unpoetic soul" ever given breath by destiny
Have you ever procrastinate?
Have you ever procrastinate something that will redeem itself as a catastrophic shadow of doubt?
"Who would've known?" you will ask bluntly
The product of self denial doesn't virtually knocks your head right on.
Instead, it creeps and dissapears, creeps and dissapears, creeps and dissapears.
It'll do so again and again and again
You are afraid now
Too afraid to confront your baby of destruction
Too afraid to even turn back to uncast the shadow that dwells behind you
Too afraid to move
Too afraid to do anything
Then, just then,
After all that, the shadow consumed you whole
Every drop of your dignity
Shadow casts behind me
Lurking at every chance of ignorance
madba: What will you do then?
Face them. I'll face the consequences
Consequences; an adolescent of the actual disaster
It's worth confronting
No more enigma from the realm of doubts?
madba: Do you reckon we should start looking back now?
madba: Let's do it then!