Another epinephrine surge, un-directed, un-articulated. Innate. Cruising through the pipelines, un-metabolized and un-dissipated. Scribbling through the virtual; lest we derail another train of thought harboring a harbinger of inevitable-nothingness-esque payload.
Like a destined anvil, you cushion the hammer-fall.
Scourge of existence.
Later is the harbinger of decadence.
Later is where you think you have more time.
Later is where your prime has forsaken you.
Later is where dreams are sold off to reality’s bitter hate.
Later is where the death of all creativity of the now is inevitable.
Later is where procrastination has consumed all the fire of your creation.
Later is where the regret of now shall prevail.
Later is where pipe dreams decay you to nothingness.
There is an intricate noose which is slipping ever so slightly around our lives.
Doesn’t matter what you do; you may merely decelerate it but never extricate.