Life As A Writer

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

WHEN A COMFORTING LIE NO LONGER COMFORTS
AND THE TRUTH IS NO LONGER BURIED
EMOTIONS RISE TO THE FRAGILE SURFACE
DROWNING THE HEART AND MIND WITH SADNESS

DISAPPOINTED WITH WHAT COULD NOT REMAIN
AND WITH A WEAKNESS THE COULD NOT DEFEND
REJECTION FLOWS FROM TAINTED TRUTHS
THAT HOUSED AND FED A COMFORTING LIE

WHAT LIES BENEATH THE PAINTED SURFACE
WILL SHOW AS IT’S WEATHERED AWAY
SO A COMFORTING LIE CAN ONLY HARBOUR
AS LONG AS THE TRUTH IS SET TO SAIL

Charles Daaboul
Death has no limitations; it just takes what it wants, when it wants. It’s not embarrassed that it might fail, it’s not fearful of anything; it has no expectations but one goal in mind. We don’t have to be any different towards that mindset.
Excerpt from Never Settle for Second Best! By Michael Daaboul

this is not a test

All the nights will be rough.

You will experience pain mentally.

Physically you should be fine, however, there may be cracks in your heart.

This is not a test.

This is real life.

Do you understand?

Do you understand we can’t put a number on these nights?

During the day, you will feel some relief. We’re not monsters.

I’m sorry, I do apologise. That’s a lie. We are monsters.

We can’t guarantee your nightmare won’t follow you into the day.

Don’t worry, physically you should be fine.

We’re not sure when this will be over, but when you reach the end, you will be on your own. You will look up into the stars and you will be greeted by silence. You feel like you’re a million miles away and you will be alone.

You’re alone now and you will be alone later.

This is the pain you need to go through. This is the world, what did you expect?

This is how you will live, you will think that it’s not too late for things to get better.

You will have times where you will think everything will be alright.

Is this what you expected?

Who will know that YOU are in pain?

My advice to you is stay alive, please do not take your life, it’s not worth it.

As I said, you will experience pain, this is not a test.

Like the rest of the world, I am a monster, I’m here to tell you the truth, it will NOT be alright.

candy man

I’m trying to understand the meaning, the truth that sets us aside. You’re over there and I’m here, we’re separated, showing malaise and subsiding while walking away from what made us.

I have ignored life and the years have ignored me, and the time has come where I wonder where these years have gone.

In suffering and this far-off, safe journey of bad news, this soul is stricken and haemorrhaging.

Raining shivers fall over my chest and the candy-scented man across the hospital passageway said, “I told you son, it’s just the way life is. You’re not here for very long. Don’t worry about it, you have a strong heart, but it’s not strong enough. Go see what the world has to show you before you leave.”

There was no remorse left but sinking ships inside my stomach, the captains are waving the white flag, the seas are too rough, it’s pretty bad if they’re surrendering.

Behind the car park, there was no one left that I could talk to, I was left to be a slave to disease and it seems the world has forgotten me too. I walk high roads, they’re so tall, but I can see a light at the peak. It’s the Sun, merely lurking around the corners trying to keep me warm.

Having some kind of hope, something that comes in handy with no real happy ending or maybe a miracle is taking over, I need something. You need hope.

I guess the candy man was right, don’t worry about it. There’s no stopping it, there’s no relief, just keep going, and see the world!

This is part of a routine to find a meaning to give to a purpose of living. Without any responsibilities, it’s foolish to think we wouldn’t want to be stripped down of any worry and worry wanting to be stripped down of fear.

Disease will hit when everything feels like you have been travelling well and disease will hit when everything is falling.

The past might have took me into hiding showing me a vintage memory of nostalgia, but when hope is falling, I will catch it.

Hurricane

I watched your lips move as you told me about how you were all alone. You told me that there was no other way, as your tears fell down from your eyes. Your heart did break in two; your thoughts were so confused.

Like a hurricane, it hits somewhere near home, it will not leave you alone. Like a hurricane, it has its own way.

It was not your fault. You did not know the truth. Everything was hidden away from you, everything that could have ever hurt you. It was kept far away, in hope that it could maybe protect you.

You had no way of knowing, like rain without the dark clouds on a nice day. You had a feeling it would be coming around, but you knew the rain would always fall.

You slowly forget over the years what made you like this. You kind of realised that nothing in this life loved you.

Joking about fate and the invisible pen that wrote your path used to stab your chest, you were just sick of losing.

It’s a cold feeling this pain, the icy wind blows warm air in comparison, but in darkness your aches can see.

Wishing I can turn your way, this highway is congested and it’s impossible to take you far away.

You wanted to play a game, but not the way life played you, like a hurricane, it had its own way.


By yourself at home
They attacked you
And left you all alone

is it true?

Me: Is it true to what they say?
Thoughts: The truth always felt like this.
Me: Is it true to what they said?
Thoughts: The truth had always lingered around.
Me: Is . . . it . . . true?
Thoughts: The truth could never understand. We could never understand . . . when the news came, it hit pretty hard.
Me: Like a hurricane inside my heart.
Thoughts: When it did, I needed a hand.
Me: I was too proud; I refused every hand.
Thoughts: I have always felt like this.
Me: The truth had always felt like this.
Thoughts: And the truth stayed this way.
Me: It had always stayed this way.

running past lies

The truth made it to me, eventually. I couldn’t understand what it was saying because it had trouble catching its breath. Running past lies all day is tiring, I thought.

But, it did make it to me and I listened in anticipation, but nothing came out; hot air, but no words.

So I sat there with truth, just waited and staring with curious thoughts.

Truth stood there looking at me, dazed.

The lies it would say. The lies. It made truth feel like a fraud. 

The lies destroyed it in every single way possible. Lies never rested, it was brutal and relentless. 

I don’t feel like myself truth thought, not like this

It would seem people can’t handle the truth any more, knowing the secrets that lie in the deepest parts can destroy. 

It was then, at that moment, truth realised it had a lot in common with a lie, both brutal and relentless with what they hold.

With truth came closure of its destruction, but with a lie, a more devious attempt to sustain the death of what it holds until it absorbed every bit of life from its receiver. 

I am responsible for instant deaths, but the lies, prolong death, it’s terrible truth thought.

the hero effect

Are you ever sick of being a hero?

You have your reputation on the line all the time and if you stuff up, you will never get a second chance.

You are perfect.

First impressions last and with every word you say, they will always be stuck in the minds of those who admire you.

You have learnt that impressions have always lasted

You smile and wave your hand at your fans, but you’re fighting the evil inside. The evil no one knows about because you don’t want them to fear for you, you feel as if it is your own burden to bear.

You never give up trying because the cost of failure is expensive.

The fame is imprinted in your name of being a hero. You live with this expectation on a daily basis. The pressure takes years away from your life, but you always wanted to die before you grew too old to move your delicate joints. You will not be strong enough and you have pondered about this for a very long time now.

Sooner or later they will find out that you are a fraud. You have reporters chasing after you everyday of your life. Is it worth it?

You hide behind a mask, but even when you walk in public, somehow you think everyone knows about your identity. Someone is pulling the plug on you and you can’t help but feel the overwhelming association you have to the source. You feel betrayed.

You learn to hide your identity and then you question who you really are.

Who will be the one to spill the truth about you? It just takes one picture … one failure.

It takes one failure for you to start doubting yourself. You could never fly away or try to turn back the hands of time. Even if you could, you would try to go invisible to hide from everyone, hide from those who need your help the most. Hide from yourself.

You are responsible, courageous; the role model people look up to. You take one wrong move and everyone will be questioning your ability.

You start to realise, "Even heroes know when to fall."

Falling is something you never took too lightly. The word frustrated you. It reminded you of 'failure'.

You have been dubbed ‘the nice guy who finishes last’; didn’t they know how fast you were? You had everything to lose at the start but nothing to gain from this story … your own story.

Even heroes need some company, but they never really had any friends. In the past they had all been jealous of these new found ‘powers’, and those who did feel like they stayed there until the end, they only pretended to be. As a hero, you always had enemies for company.

You still think about being a hero and saving those who need help, but I swear I heard you say, "A hero will not save me …"

Who will save you?

He stood by himself with only one path to walk … he stood still and the ground shook. Everything turned black and white. The pain he could stand. His body changed and there was no one on his side. He broke the dimensions of time and the Sun defined his own existence. Everything changed … he was, born again.

I can tell you a story that makes no sense to me, but makes sense to you. How do you see yourself? How do you know your reflection is who you are? What if your eyes are deceiving you? What if an image of yourself isn’t really you? What if people pointed out that you looked like what you were seeing, but you weren’t really real? What if I told you that nothing else existed in this world but yourself and everything in this world is a result of your imagination? What if I told you that what I’m telling you right now isn’t even real, but it’s the truth?
Michael Daaboul
Loading... No More Posts Load More Posts