Anathema!

I am on the brink of self-termination, all because it seems my life is heading nowhere, a dead-end, a mess. Every night before I retire myself to the state of unconsciousness, I pray that I won’t make it in the morning. I pop a dozen of valium pills to expedite my expiration but I guess my body’s too immune to give in. Probably I’ll utilize cyanide next time.

I lie in my odor-filled chamber reading novels, trying to be productive in my imagining. And in the past months I have read quite a number, which I used to think was very a impossible ‘achievement’ for a fellow of very narrow attention span as myself. And when I ran out of books to burn in my thoughts, I resort to browsing over an ancient Webster and a pocket thesaurus enriching my poverty-stricken vocabulary. In my hunger for words I wrote poetry when boredom strikes. And so I dubbed my poetry, if you consider them as such, ‘products of unproductiveness’, and proclaimed myself a poet in hybernation.

I admit to myself that I am cursed, if not a curse itself, and that in the course of my existence I have made flaws that altered my life beyond regret. If only I could turn back time, a cliché for those who are frustrated, but it runs through my thoughts endlessly.

My former self has become a stranger even to me. It seems like eons since I genuinely felt bliss, and no amount of ice cream or pizza, two of my few vanities if I may put it, can bring me back to my childish nature.

Childish, yes you read it right. I was carefree, like a child in the rain or a bird in flight. I care for nothing except getting my candy to lick. I still play in the rain though, only to cry and pour my sadness out of my system hoping the water will wash it away. At the same time wishing the rain will bridge my longing to whoever listens to the cries of my wretched anima.

Anathema! I am forsaken!