Tag: poem

Sometimes, I really get this feeling that I can pull it off, that I can make it after all. Sometimes everything is going just fine. The music sounds melodious. Any music. The trees are swaying just right. The winds ain’t too harsh. The dogs are barking in love. The birds are smiling as they fly back to their cozy nests. The rivers, wherever they are flowing, are flowing below the danger level. No flooding. Nothing. The mountains are standing tall and straight and complete and no son of a bitch is razing them down. Everybody’s head around me is working just fine. Every tongue has flowers growing on it. Every curse is divine. Every God is just. Sometimes I get this kind of feeling and I wonder where it’s coming from and why it doesn’t come all the time. I am staring at the cupboard and thinking about what else to say. I am touching my beard. It has grown quite a lot in three months. No cure to that. Human hair keeps growing even after he is dead. Or maybe I am wrong. Who cares really.

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A call from my boss.

‘When are you coming back? You were supposed to come back today…’ he said as soon as I picked up his call.

‘I am never coming back motherfucker. Go to hell’ I thought and then I said, ‘Not this week. Next week maybe…’

For the rest of the day, hideous thoughts kept filling my brain. How to quit my job. How to punch everybody in the face. How to forget that phone call. How to make it out of here alive. How to quit my job and become a full time writer. I even did a google search on that. Imagine the hell I must have been going through. I read an article by some writer on some website. She wrote that it was hard, everything was hard. It was hard for her to quit her day job. I thought about that. Yeah, it could be really hard. She said that in the time that she put in doing her own writing work, she could make enough to earn a decent living. She said that she was earning much more than what she was earning in her shit, demeaning job. She said that she was finally earning what she deserved. Well, that was something worth reading, even if all that was a lie.

Going back to that job, to that desk, to that same old grinding, I knew all that shit was coming back to me one day. I thought I still had time. But that’s the thing about time – you cannot have enough of it. You only have so much. The whole day was spent in quiet, slow suffering. Will I ever be able to make it? Do I still have the choice of saving myself? Is it really that bad or is it bad only inside my head? What am I trying to do here? I am trying to pull myself up. I am neck deep in this goddamn mire and I am trying to dig myself out. At the same time, I am cheating myself. You know why? Because I am really not digging. I am just slipping down every moment. I am just another genius turned scumbag going down.

I need to become a beggar. I have thought about it several times in the past decade. I need to be thrown on the streets. I want none of this money and this job. It’s all horseshit. It’s a distraction. Took a walk in the evening. Forgot to pop in vitamin tablets today. We are all dying, only some more than others. Today, I feel as if I am dying more than anyone else. Unsettling thoughts kept whizzing in my brain during my little walk. What am I walking for? Should I make a plan to write everyday? Oh I need more disciple in writing. I need to be beaten on my fingers. Without that, I am certainly not going to make it. My reckless, lethargic nature will make sure I do not make it. Everything tastes bitter again. Everything. Or maybe it’s just my coffee. Or maybe it’s just my fucking head. Or maybe I am just hungry and waiting for something good to happen.

Copyright © Tomic Riter. All rights reserved.