It scares the shit out of me, the things they tell me. They’re not trying to change me. They want to shape-shift me into something heartless, soulless, cruel. They want me to become one of them. If only I had enough to buy an island, to strand myself away from it all.

If only they could lose me… all of them fuckers. I do know however, that with the pace that I’m going at, it’ll soon get too dark for even them to see me.

Sometimes I wonder how I got this far. الحمدلله

I know that He’s watching over. I know that He knows that they’re there, talking to me, hypnotizing me at times, ordering me, commanding me, sweet talking me. I am so fucking easy. I know that He’s given me enough faith to know His right and His wrong even if sometimes they contradict with what I want. God, I am trying…

I can feel a new heart; a meaningless one; one that is but an organ that pumps blood throughout my tunnels for my darkened soul to swim with the grace of kings. But then again… kings are not stupid. Kings don’t fall until they’re dead. You are the common peasant whose mother dragged to the festival and pointed out the Royal family as they passed by in their gold plated wagons and told him, ‘Look child, it’s the good people. They’re clean and beautiful. May God always keep them safe’. And you couldn’t help but cover your eyes from all the shiny glitter reflecting off their crowns.

If I had the power to forget, I would forget that I ever existed.

Effortlessly you wake up. There is nothing to dream about. Not even fantasy can beat my broad senseless and illogical imagination. Fuck dreams… I have a 24/7 show running in my head and it’s haunting me with its random lights; music too loud it deafens me. And amidst it all… all of them entertainers are there to please me. Talk to me, O fucking dark prince. Get it over with cos I don’t care anymore.

The problem is… I keep listening, still listening… still fucking hoping. And the more I hope, the emptier it gets, the more I realize that no matter how much you wanna hold on to your teddy bear, your best friend, your sweetheart… nothing stays the same. If only I could eliminate gravity and wind, I would roam free forever; true fact of physics. But then again… I’m just a banker. And at the end, you’re only left with the cold sensation of rhetorical guilt as rage against them all crawls up your spine and into your brain to let you know who… you… are.

So… who am I?

The Things That I Want by yours truly. My first post; or was it the second? I can’t remember. All I know is now that I’ve grown and supposedly matured, my list has not changed one bit. Because the more you experience life, the more you want out of it. Elmo can talk now. The remote control cars are now bigger and faster. Girls got hotter. Drugs became more sensational. Islands for sale; countries for bidding; and everything is shinier and more seducing. Nevertheless, every time I got closer to life, I realize that what I truly want out of life, never had a price tag; always indescribable, always special to me. I am all that matters.

Me, me, me.

Sometimes it scares me how flexible I am.

Fucking bastards reminding me, asking me to hate. I am not a hater. Let me be, you sleazy cunts. You do not love me so why don’t you fucking admit it and let the awkwardness die.

I’ve applied for a transfer to another department with a guaranteed promotion. Square one, new challenge, new people, more things to learn, much more shit to prove, more risk of fucking up. I’ve been keeping myself busy. I work like there’s no tomorrow. I haven’t been that busy for years. Gotta keep moving, experiencing life; pain, joy… all. The good and the bad, the lies, the deceits, the changing minds, the changing hearts, the horror of it all. Because the moment I stop… the moment I halt to release my amino acids from my muscles, the minute I stop to breathe… I think… and I remember her. I don’t want to think.

I need… I need to let her go.

I gotta keep myself busy. I gotta run… nonstop.

I need a shadow to hide me, to take over… I need something to eat at my head before it devours me, melt me, bit by bit. Dear God, if you’re listening… grab me from this engulfing darkness in my mind.

I need peace.

I need to be invisible for a while… because they can’t see me like this. I don’t want them to see me, because if they do they wouldn’t like me. They would either loathe me… or fear me. All based on their personal judgments. Should we praise him as king of the batteekhishly deprived or should we crucify him, stone him, slice him with our whip into very thin layers of flesh and bones; so thin you wouldn’t know that he’s ever existed.

The slashing into non-existence. Feed me to the dogs… Get… it… over with.

Personal judgment!

I don’t want to remember how her eyes changed.

I want to forget all the signs that told me that it was meant to be; those patterns that I’ve cherished… the fucking signs that I’ve so strenuously believed.

Oh, I never learn. :)

Dear God, I know you… I feel your presence… watching over me. Guide me…

I know they’re stalking me. I can feel their rotting breath on my back. I can bare it for now, but the problem is… something tells me that they’re here to stay for good.

Maybe I’m the one who’s staying. Maybe I’ve been that stalker, that conniving demon, those dark strings of guideless words all along. I don’t know anymore.

All I know is that there’s somebody else here with me. I can hear his hissing… and I can feel his breath.

Ya Mogheeth…