I force myself to begin
and not consider the arduous path
that must be traversed before attaining
any semblance of joy

While constantly aware
that an easy fix lies a tab away
measured against which this effort
becomes vulnerable to feelings of disinclination

I fall prey easily and with increasing regularity
until the arduous path,
once a sufficient source of joy by itself,
is marked by so many instances of desertion

that its length and complexity increases
and turns it into something
unrecognizable of the form it belongs to
but well in sync with the world that affects it