The struggles of essay-writing in the form of a poem:


Putting off work for days on end,

Reassuring myself I’ll be fine, but it’s all pretend.

Of course, it’ll get it done – I know what I’m doing…

Crap, isn’t there research I should be persuing?

Research? Pah, I’ll get to it when I write it.

At the moment, I’m being lazy and I can’t be arsed to fight it.

Sure, I’m getting round to it, the deadline’s not for days,

Tomorrow I’ll start it and get it out the way.

I said that I’d do it but then I started reading this book,

No it’s not on the curriculum but I still thought I’d take a look.

As things stand, no it’s still not done,

There’s shit going down – Sherlock’s got a gun!

I know, I know – the deadline’s tomorrow,

Oh shit, I’m unprepared and in a bubble full of sorrow.

Not gonna get a good grade, but fuck it, it’s done.