unproductivity

there's a stack of notes, there's half a pot of coffee left, and there's a blank page that remains untouched.

The clock mocks loud as each second passes, as though you weren't aware that things aren't moving. Why won't you die clock? A sudden abrupt end so I can concentrate without your judging face looking down on me.

The stapler feels so light, and you can see in your mind a trajectory from table to clock.

'Don't kill the messenger,' the calendar says.
'Time will not stop even if you smashed the clock to pieces.'

Damn you wise-talking stationery