Illusion

I guess when I’m sad I get stuck I waste time thinking like a sitting duck Then I quickly and effortlessly get everything done, plus one Perfection is still a mystery of illusion I hold as mine It's an exhausting cycle that I have been on I'm working around old ways and old ought's I ought to be working 9-5 at a desk Slaving away for nickels and dimes until my retired breath No, you worked your behind off to be away from the loud crowds Yet somehow you manage to make something out of nothing, with everything you have I mean, wow Yes, losing time thinking of lost time And what to do with upcoming time Just thinking Then Reacting in the nick of time Insanity I say psycho when you ask me to describe my insides But don't ask me As I have mentioned I already overthink so clearly just assume When I am distant it's not you it's me I am thinking about the countless absences I have been present but missing An award for 100% attendance of self Still cannot be awarded to me Still missing days here and there But that's progress from this time Last year I'm working on all my parts Still The thoughts will come And they won't stop until My brain decides it's time to power off I don't know when that will be I just know when I'm sad and alone I get stuck With hundreds of thoughts keeping me company Forcing me to think each thought to its complete Trying to be perfect Will remain a mystery of illusion to me