Everyone’s got a reason, a story, a scar,

Blaming the weather, the boss, or the stars.

Preaching self-love from their broken screens,

While drowning in coffee and dopamine dreams.

They say they’ll start tomorrow,

Like tomorrow’s some kind of god.

But I’ve seen that god —

and he’s lazy, overworked, and odd.

We’re just excuse addicts, high on denial,

Selling our guilt with a crooked smile.

Trading our shame for digital praise,

Saints of procrastination, stuck in the maze.

They call it balance, I call it fear,

Changing nothing, year by year.

“Just tired,” they say, “just not my time,”

But the truth’s too sharp to fit that line.

We write our reasons like notes to the past,

Excuses we sign so the guilt won’t last.

It’s comfort dressed up as pain we fake,

A habit we feed but never break

So here’s to the dreamers who never begin,

To the wars we don’t fight, to the races we don’t win.

We’ve mastered the art of standing still —

Excuse me... I just need one more pill