Time flows around me like water.
Thick water.

My limbs- My mind,
Stuck in slow motion.

Have I grown complacent?
Another year past, yet still I slog.

No- worse than slog.
I have yet to even begin the journey.

Which path should I take?
What if my destination changes?
All these thoughts and more,
the antithesis of my growth.

-

It's the hypothesizing- Third guessing.
An analysis paralysis
causing a moratorium of my progress.

The decisions-
Like resin,
The posits-
Like caltrops,
Muting my momentum
and sapping my speed.

My research?
On hold.
My book?
On hold.
My training?
On hold.
My business?
On hold.
My poetry?
Trickling through the pipes
where once it flowed.

-

Like water.
Thick water.
This water,
I drown in.

Thick water.
Sick water.
Sludge water,
viscous, dim.

A sloth, though,
born of overthinking.
A moth, by,
the flame of laziness.
I aught, now,
pick a goal and stick with.

Penned by my hand on the 16th of Sarapin, in the year 835 AF.