I Can’t Write Anymore (Draft)

I can’t write anymore.

It’s not a personal decision I made. It’s just the way I feel. The volume rocker in my head appears to have been turned up to 11 and now the all the voices in my head are louder than ever.

I tried to go for a prescription refill for my medication but I realized I didn’t have the money for it. I’m supposed to be getting my cheque in a week. Until then, I have to deal with this nuisance.

But that’s just a small reason why I don’t have the motivation to write. Two days ago my dog died. It was heartbreaking. I had him for six months. When I brought “Merlin” from the dog shelter back to my apartment, he was so excited.

Now he’s dead. Killed by a dumbass driver in the street. I buried Merlin so afterwards and now my apartment is empty. No life. All shallow. His doggy bowl is the corner with half eaten food which I keep forgetting to throw way.

I keep thinking it’s all going to end well but it never seems to go that way. My motivation meter keeps dwindling.

When I open my computer, I just stare at the blinking cursor, hoping that words appear by themselves…..

 

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Short Story: Sinner

They call it a house of worship. A place where you can find solace with the Creator. And here I stand on the stairs of the Lord’s temple, smoking a cigarette, feeling like the scum of the earth.

I recall memories from my childhood when I was in school. High school was such a cruel environment. There were some painful memories. It was really a dog eat dog world. I was a very naive child. Always trying to make everybody happy. The only person I couldn’t make happy was myself. But nobody cared. Once people get what they want from you, they stop caring and act like you don’t exist.

I finally had an epiphany. I finally realized that deep down, people are inherently selfish. They don’t realize it unless you point it out to them. Everyone thinks they’re good at heart. They think that they’re good people. It’s amazing how people believe their own bullshit. I believe the quote goes like this: “The road to hell is paved with good intentions”. In that case, we’re all fucked. Aren’t we?

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The Couch (A Short Story)

The apartment looked really clean. He patted himself on the back for doing a great job of cleaning up the apartment by himself. The couch which had been in the living room had been moved outside. All his clothes were packed in the suitcase. His books and other items were in boxes, ready to be moved out. The carpet was surprisingly clean. It was probably because no one was hardly in the living room area.

Everything was great except for the weather. The sun wasn’t playing fair. It was disgustingly humid. You couldn’t walk outside for two minutes without your body breaking out in a sweat. It was summertime. There were times he wished he lived somewhere where the weather was a little more forgiving. Sometimes he contemplated moving to a cooler climate. For now, he only needed to worry about moving to another apartment instead of a whole different continent.

He had asked his (ex) girlfriend if she could help him move his stuff to the new apartment. He hated calling her his “ex-girlfriend”. It wasn’t too long ago since they had ended their relationship.  An “ex” also seemed to be a negative thing. But he and his now ex-girlfriend seemed more like good friends. After all, their break up had been mutual.

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Leaving Earth (Rough Draft)

I was a young naive mind
Living in ignorant bliss and harmony
The world showed me its hand
My mind unravelled like string
Showing me its true nature
Laughing in my face like absurd clowns
Looking up at the sky, gazing at the stars
Reaching out, wondering why God was so far

This world made me realize
Nothing is really as its seems
Writing pages so I could escape reality
They should have told me skies would eventually fall
And the world would go black as night
Or was this another lie to hide the truth
Were we friends, or were we just pretend
Now I’m sitting alone with thoughts, hoping the world would end

Staring at my reflection, wondering if I even exist
Asking God why I feel like a piece of shit
Do you even listen when I talk to you
Or are you too busy reading your rave reviews
It was Adrina, they say she bled to death
Miles away, a baby took in its first breath
Can I unsubscribe from this damn religion
Or I am stuck in this purgatory which is my prison

Facing alternate realities
Getting drunk on bourbon street in New Orleans
Running out of downer pills
These cigarettes aren’t enough to keep me thrilled
New friends give me a glimmer of hope
Keeping me from going down this slippery slope
If they ever leave me, I wonder if I can even cope

You kissed me when I would have preferred lies
Shot love cannons at the worst target
Just to see emotions collapse in a heap
I couldn’t love her, so she had to leave
Hoping she finds someone a little less perfect than me
Baby on her lap, ring on her finger
Memories on me no longer surface and linger

In this spaceship, ready to leave it all behind
Memories of love, pain, family, and all of mankind
Do I go off with regret, not having a family who bears my name
No daughters or sons, no loving wife
Should I have indulged more in drugs and sex escapades
Given the chance, I would have asked her to stay
The countdown starts, ready to make our ascent
To me leaving earth just makes sense

Anxiety

The butterflies in my stomach were suddenly awake
Fearing danger, they fluttered around nervously
This was in response to the impending situation
Me walking towards a girl who had stolen my heart without knowing it
The voices in my head barked loudly
Each speaking of the dangers of this physical meeting
Doubt screamed the loudest
Outlining all the scenarios of how it could end badly
But my feet kept moving in her direction
As if possessed by some spiritual entity
Determined to see this through
The butterflies fluttered at a faster pace
The voice of doubt continued with its chorus
But my focus could not be swayed
I finally approached her
She turned, flashing a radiant smile like the morning sun
And greeting with a “hi” as friendly as a little child
Blood draining out of my head
As the words “hello” escaped out of my mouth
The world went black

A Lyrical Letter To My Split Personality

During the 90s, I developed my pen game
Writing rhymes and syllables, all from my membrane
Who knew depression would make me a better writer
But these battles kept me from going even higher
Dear Joe, Did I tell you that you were my hero
How you inspired me to not be a zero?
Your pen game was ill, you were ahead of the curve
Writing these wavy lyrics like you were born to surf
Killing all these concepts and stories like it was nothing
But you kept your notebooks to yourself like you were hiding something
Do you think you would have been famous if people knew your talent
Or did you hate the spotlight
Maybe playing the background kept you more balanced
I remember how you were always feeling like you were always the odd one out
But fuck that, don’t stand in when you could be the best one out
Your writing was like a therapy session
Reading all your thoughts on paper to me was a blessing
Truth be told, you were my hero and shit
When you got heartbroken, It hurt to see you go through that shit
My whole life, I had all the pain that you went through
Is it weird that we kind of live the same life and I was just like you
My own family think I’m weird, but they love me just the same
Even if society pushes my buttons like a video game
Fuck society, they never really valued what you had
The way you see you as a weirdo just makes me mad
You played the nice guy, they took advantage and left you hurt
I would give anything to see those motherfuckers face down in the dirt
A cruel world abusing a good kid, not giving a fuck
Now I have to get my hands dirty to get through the mud
I know I get angry but I’m controlling my emotions
Sometimes I see red and world goes in slow motion
Did the pills and therapy, just like all you went through
But I was happy you came out better for all you’ve been through
Keep the fight, I’m praying for you from another dimension
Maybe one day we’ll meet and form a better friendship

I Don’t Want To Die Today

The phone remains silent
I can hear the walls having quiet conversations about me
Feeling like an imposter in society
If life is precious
Then I’m a thief robbing someone else of their breath and opportunity
Does my constant flirtation with death make me pathetic
As I keep dreaming of being buried with my worries and emotions
Is it pride which keeps me from showing these scars
And exposing myself as human
Holding onto secrets I keep locked away like buried treasure
The cape I used to wear lays tattered and faded
Everyone forget that even heroes go through hurt
Maybe I’m finally out of time
Maybe my final embrace with death is near
As I feel my breath become more shallow as minutes go by
The silent phone springs to life
As a loved one tries to make contact
I loosen death’s grip and slip back to reality
Releasing tears which end droughts of depression
Breaking down through darkness into the light
I don’t want to die today
But this journey feels harder when you keep walking alone