Life As A Writer

Michael Daaboul. 26 y/o from Australia/Melbourne. Digital Designer & Creative Writer.

creative writing

break of day

Break of day starts with the Sun’s shine of anticipation, the lurking fear sympathises with popular opinion and you hold this expectation. You hold it so tight, the expectation escapes you and you open your eyes and realise that you didn’t meet your own expectations.

You come to a confronting halt. You’re scared in your own country’s authority. Fear understands its lack of compassion and intuition.

Your soul arrives in a cell that will never see the shine of anticipation to a new day. Any light that makes it in is warm enough to pierce the dust around you. Your heart beats with every suspicion, a human; no animal that wanders inside the mind of humanity that tries to seek some trust.

You ask about the pain humanity is in, all the suffering you see. You see a good person in a happy home that is infected with drugs and evil to poverty and disease. This good person wanted to learn how to live, but never as you would; please.

Your hands rise up and clutch the bars in your cell and you hear the screams at night. You want to say sorry for something you haven’t done, you just want to know if everything will be alright. You see their eyes that cry a flood of tears, when all of their hopes and dreams seem to disappear.

When it rains; you knew it would rain, you try to claim that you have this feeling inside that’s put to shame and you have no one to help you. Is that the awful truth, that you have no one? Not one person to be with you to pick up the pieces. You realise life is just like that, nobody’s coming for you.

With your head tilt back you release a sigh and think about the world you live in and wonder if it’s really worth fighting for. It’s not a fine place, we even deal with people by capital punishment but it was their choice.

We have those without a voice, they open their mouths and nothing comes out. How frustrating must that be? Everyone needs a voice. We have laws that discriminate; slavery and rape are being ignored while we fund trillions into the military to kill ourselves.

Do you hear anyone knocking on this door? There’s no one.

We have authority and contradictions; lack of compassion and intuition. Remember every day starts with anticipation of the break of day, everyone is running towards the Sun.

the walking dead

I walk a path of solidarity.

I walk this path because I don’t know what else there is for me.

I walk the only path I can find.

Along this path I find dead bodies that have not made it to the end.

The bones don’t tell me anything about their story, because they all look the same.

I look ahead and I can’t see the end, so I keep on walking until one day I might be lucky enough to find something.

I walk this path of solidarity without any memories that have been left behind. I will never know the places I have been to or the people I have come across. I have been walking this path alone for a long time.

I was too busy looking for the end ahead of me when the end was right there, walking right beside me.

dead stars

Can you feel the warmth of the dead stars above you? Can you see them visiting for the last time? Do you know how they feel? Do they even feel?

How far can you be from me; as far as the stars, as far as the edge of our universe?

Can you see that I’m real, I’m not fading away like a star, I’m not visiting for a little while, I’m here to make you smile. That might be a lie to comfort you; I might never make it.

I have this creed that I read before I set off into oblivion to capture you; I say that in the nicest possible way to you. I will not betray you, but you would have to accept me for the way I am.

Do I have to change the way I see myself? A burning sage flying deep into the sky?

You flew ahead of me, departing for the other side. But I am forbidden to lurk in such places.

I’m not from here as you know, but you have made me feel like I belong. A longing never felt before.

Are you ignoring me? Do you understand the language that I speak? Do you understand that by the time my words have reached you, light years would have passed and I would have moved far away from The Universe with the dead stars that you see at night. I will become nothing more than a forgotten memory, a dot in an endless black hole of life.

I didn’t arrive in time, but you always knew I wouldn’t come, not even late; but I saw you from a billion miles away, you were so bright you could be seen from another galaxy. Unfortunately, I will never know if you will get this, but I’m complete knowing you would, probably, read this one day.

the memory thief

Following the path to the greenest and most marvellous hills I have ever seen; tall and majestic; my vision blurred by its awe. The wind gently brushing the long grass as it fills the gaps between my arms. Just for this moment, I feel like I can fly.

There is a distant smile climbing the mountain; a distant wonder I can’t follow.  A winding road just ahead and it seems like a celebration towards the end. Not needing to live in pain, not needing to pretend, this gentle voice of clarity, a soothing voice of redemption, a touch of peace, a distant dream.

I’m walking inside my mind and my eyes open. There is the smile once again, a tear that is shed so long ago.

These memories of unforeseen reasons, this everlasting reminder of what little hope there is; a change for the season, how our thoughts get crushed and hidden.

Sedation and stress free; not longing but a premature feeling. Watching the changes, not the magnificent howling experienced, but the constantly repeating nostalgia of what we miss.

Still miss.

Thinking about it every day until something will change. A constant swirling of routine, assures of a long scenic drive of a never ending view just beyond the windscreen.

Memories are stolen and deceive you as they have faded, decaying, as the Memory Thief is begging.

You really don’t know what you had until it’s gone, if the Memory Thief makes it this time, be sure to remember for one last moment what made you smile before your memories are gone.

314 words of intangible knots

My surroundings fall as I walk in and out of my dreams. All of my hope is fading away and the first thing that comes to mind is you and wishing that you were by my side.

As the world had trouble keeping the sky in place; all I heard was silence; your only gift to me.

My thoughts drift further away from my mind, they escaped the empty darkness and they told me they needed time; this, empty darkness of thoughts, held heavily in place with crowded knots; a crowded population of misplaced knots.

I closed my eyes and they were already gone, escaped and torn. The world has become a fountain, but it did a good job of disguising the rubble as tears.

I don’t believe anything anymore. You say that your thinking protects you and anything you do.

I remember you like it was yesterday. A brand new day and like yesterday and tomorrow, I’m reminded of where I’m not and where you will be; stuck in a series of intangible knots.

It was hard for you to give me honesty, forgetting my name and everything, forgetting who I am.

Walking as my surroundings fall between, my limited sanity accepting the apology of the world as the rubble falls like rain.

Don’t say it, I don’t believe it. This apology, don’t dare say it, the world won’t accept it. The world is torn and the darkness has escaped.

Today it feels so strange from the falling. All of this leftover hope … silence was all you gave me.

This silence was all we ever gave this world in return our world reflecting our forgotten and misplaced thoughts.

The sound of trumpets and puppet masters walk beside me in River Street beside the left and right lanes, the ending to The World’s very own tragedy, and an epic written in 314 words.

the train driver

I look at the windows on the train passing by and I don’t see my own reflection. For a few seconds this scene is frozen. On this platform, no one has a reflection looking on to the train. Everyone could see without distraction everyone else riding along in a consistent path to nowhere, hoping the train will take them to salvation, or a better place.

Some ride for the thrill, some put on headphones and get lost inside another world of their own music clips, some bounce their eyes from side to side watching the scenery and others have nothing left to live for so they journey along with the rest of us.

The train driver doesn’t have a reflection as he never parted from the train and in turn was never able to see if he had a reflection. In fact, no one from inside the train could see their own image reflected from the windows, but they could see us outside, and so I came to the conclusion, no one was able to see their true selves any more; stuck inside a world without any projection, or any significance.

The train driver knows this piece of information, most people do, but especially the train driver. He doesn’t come out of the train even when he doesn’t have to be inside there. He is scared and fearful that he might not have a reflection and therefore will be subjected to the same subjectiveness we are all subjected to.

Subjected to torment, subjected by imprisonment of a moving catalyst leading to nowhere.

We all just try to get along moving to a destination made of circles, never truly knowing why we have stopped leaving behind our own image or why our soulless tombs has become so soulless. 

As he might not know what is going on, or where we are going, the train driver feels as if he has an important mission to get us where we need to go, although that’s how he feels and if he wasn’t the driver, then most of us would be left waiting on the platform and standing still on the train.

After all, just like the train driver, none of us really know what is going on; sometimes, even with a train driver, some are still left waiting and standing still.

no surprise

It’s no surprise the truth never becomes acquainted with the lie. It’s no surprise; the lie was created by the failure of truth in the beginning of its creation, the devil of the leftovers, the trail of betrayal, the black blemish hidden behind the glory of the truth.

Behind all the pretty lights and the unconvincing smiles, the lurking burden fails to understand why the brighter, more powerful concept was able to thrive without its flaw.

The failure left so the glory could be had with the perfect being, the perfect concept. Unfortunately, you’ll never know what they knew, it wasn’t what they said.

What they said …

It’s futile. It was too cruel out there. It’s a stage made for the strong, and you know how the next part goes, even the strong know when to fall.

That’s no surprise.

The darker part decided to leave one day, sick of being left behind, behind the curtains of shame, covered behind a hidden world of blankets. 

"I see the truth. It’s not really made for you."

"But I …"

"It’s not made for you."

It’s no surprise that your dreams reminded you of the betrayal and the unfaithfulness of your own kind, your own blood, the not so perfect strain of life, and, the embarrassing part.

You tried to understand, understand your deficiencies, but you knew where their true heart lies.

the curse inside your eyes

What if you told them to stay away, even when they try to look into your eyes, you could have warned them, but the curse kept you from killing them inside.

Now everything feels like it’s coming your way and then you listen, you listen to the beats of your name. You hear it coming, coming to the beat of your name. No one can feel the same, the same way you can feel inside, no one can feel any emotions like you can feel.

Honestly, it’s not a game, but you tell them it is, just to break away from the pack, but nobody told them to stop looking into your eyes. They couldn’t stop, the enduring gravity pulsating from your eyes.

You could have warned them, but you knew the curse would have killed you inside.

You’re sick of this bleeding, the bleeding that’s embedded into your eyes, embedded inside this hole; the hole that you dug for yourself. 

You dug for yourself.

They chase you, but you know it’s not a game. Some day they will find you, they will find what’s hidden beneath the disguise. They will tempt fate and even try to seduce your mind, even though they know they will lose, every attempt they made was foreseen by their own abuse.

They will make you, break you, say, I love you. They break you; make you; make you feel alone inside. If you get bitten this time, don’t throw your world away; write a song about it, like the curse that’s hidden in your eyes. 

You know, with one breath, you can save everyone hurting inside, from the mess around you, you will send every stranger packing away tonight.

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