Life As A Writer

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

they call me bill

They call me Bill.

I’m like everyone else, walking as the world stood still. Always satisfied; my life made up of simple things.

They told them to multiply, to fuel human hunger. Most were left staring at the sky.

Everyone forced into plunder. A system ruled by shadows.

A kingdom forgotten and never knowing how it slipped by. They couldn’t make decisions, they never could. Inability to use such functions of the human brain exploded their comprehension.

“I’m Bill; I’m like everyone else until I stopped walking and noticed what surrounded me.”

“I’m Frank; I’m like everyone else. I stopped breathing when I sank. Have you met my friend Bill? Apparently he stood still.”

Female: What are you talking about?
Bill/Frank: What happened?
Female: Are you feeling okay?
Bill/Frank: Where is…
Female: Eat your dinner.
Bill/Frank: What happened?

“They call me Bill, hello everyone; I suffered from amnesia from an accident. They said I did it for the thrill.”

"What did I do?"

Female: Today we have Bill and Frank joining us. Please make them feel welcomed.

Applause vibrates the hollow room.

“Hi, they call me Frank, I suffer from a damaged heart, and they said it’s failing. It’s getting broken. I can’t repair it you see; I don’t have that much money in the bank. They said it’s going to be expensive to fix a heart.”

Female: Who is she?
Bill/Frank: She was just here…
Female: You must be dreaming! You just woke up!
Bill/Frank: They caught me…
Female: Who are 'they?'
Bill/Frank: They fell from the sky…

"Hi there, they call me Life, hello world. I was like Bill and Frank, but, unlike them, I couldn’t control my own way. Everything fell down when I tried to turn things around. They found out they were part of something perfectly designed, they couldn’t turn anything around…"

Bill couldn’t remember what his Mum’s name was after the accident she abandoned him. The amnesia removed all traces of her.

Frank didn’t know his wife divorced him; he is in the United States trying to find treatment for his heart condition.

Bill worked for average pay
Frank didn’t know what to say

Bill stood still

Frank sank

For this reason he always went to the bank

To try and fix something that was broken

With money he couldn’t find

He slowly declined

Bill was on average pay
Frank just didn’t know what to say anymore
Bill just couldn’t pay anymore
Frank’s emotions just couldn’t feel anymore


"Hi, I’m Bill’s Mum and Frank’s wife, I never really spoke to Bill or Frank after the incidents, Life told me to swear to keep a promise in return that one day everything will be fair. That’s what Life said, I swear, that’s what they all said."

"Life was not fair."

the island


Stuck on an island with nothing to see
You can walk up to the sand
Standing next to a tree
Think about your future
Wearing something you have never seen
Feels a little surreal
In a place you have never been

Take a picture of the stars
They’re alive for a moment
In space playing their guitars
The music takes a hold of you
Feeling so new
On an island
That’s afraid of you

The sky drops a ladder
Right in front of you
Drops like feathers
In spite of all your failures

Take a picture of this scene
The rain falls between
Your dreams wiped
By a windscreen
Thinking about your future

The strangest thing happened
I was awakened
By the storm in front of me
Running away
Trying to break free

This island torn apart
Listening to Mozart
The strangest thing happened
He was a man
Without a heart
Tell me please
What’s this all about
A madman from the start

blind drunk melbourne

Drinking away your dreams, forgetting what you mean

Imported satisfaction, a losing dream

You’re angry at the fact you’re losing steam

Set yourself back several years


You’re young and you have no dreams

Drinking satisfaction, you’re losing sleep

You have no one, not a single fleet

Your senses bombarded, you’re a losing cheap


You’re young and you’re tired

You’re ending, your drinking has expired

You’re the blame, a miserable sheep

You’re blind drunk in Melbourne

With no dreams, you’re losing sleep

distant thoughts

You wanted to have it all, just like the rest. You wanted to feel the emotion of having everything and a sense of completion for once in your life, when it feels like a constant occurrence for everyone else.

You just wanted to feel what it would be like to have it all, before you die.

Are you being greedy? Or is it too much to ask for?

Your heart cries at night, it’s usually happy when there’s light. You can feel it beating so hard it hurts your chest and you feel like there are fingers crawling down your throat.

It’s alright if no one cares, you just need to find a place where you can rest. When you sleep, you dream and all of your worries seem to go away. When your eyes are closed, you go into another world. It’s nice there, but blinded by the fact that it’s the same world when you’re awake.

There are things in life that we’re not supposed to know, going along on your own; you never seem to find anyone to call in your empty contacts list on your mobile phone.

Looking back from start to the end, you realise, it wouldn’t have been so bad, if you had someone to rely on instead, or even a friend.

count to three

Helping people notice that they’re alive, you try to protect what they don’t know in hope that they will survive.

You assist in their last chance for hope and you try to deliver their cause because they never cared about their own, but still you tried to help in the way you knew best.

You slowly realised how their hearts and minds found a way to protest. You turn around and you look at me; this is all you had to give and their expecting you with words that will somehow make them feel better.

You’re the one they will be relying on. You told them to please take all that you had to say and put it into action. You told them that you couldn’t help yourself and that you had always fallen so short.

You don’t have to take up all this concern, it’s hard to listen and act at the same time. When your time is lost and your pride is broken, the fire inside you does not burn and does not lie; you will know it will hide.

You turn around and look at me; this is all you had to give and their expecting you with words that will somehow make them feel better. You’re the one they will be relying on.

I’m just your friend, someone you can trust until the end. I will never pretend. I will help you before I begin to help myself and help the people I care for most. I will teach you that life is not right, life is not wrong, just sometimes like a badly written song.

You get your good days and the rest have gone by the count of three. Just like that, gone by the time you have counted to three. Always remember, you will be the one to save them all … you’re the one they will be relying on.

beautiful illusion

She had a face that was slowly dying, it was the only reason why she was crying. Makeup hides the world that she lived in and she never saw her troubles building.

When she moisturised her skin, illusion created the softness she was in. When she wakes up from this mess, she will realise life is not as she guessed.

She is stuck on thirty something, as time escapes from the sands of time, she has lost everything. She has never seen how wrong she had been.

She had tried to accept her situation but realises she is the cause of her own destruction. Wrinkles are the only thing left in her soul; everyone now can see what’s underneath.

No amount of makeup can hide you from your all time lows.

The sound of a flute tells the story, a sad ring that she will hear when she is forty; she still wears the makeup she used to wear at twenty.

When she wakes up from this mess, she realises life is not as she guessed. In life everything catches up to you, it’s a beautiful illusion she was subjected to.

From the same place she started to hate him, he couldn’t understand why, his heart is the place she used to live in, now it’s the place she will never be in.

When she wakes up from this mess, she realises life is not as she guessed.

She is stuck on thirty something, as time escapes from the sands of time, she has lost everything.

Now she has never seen how wrong she had been. She had tried to accept her situation but realises she is the cause of her own destruction.

barely breathing

Her tiny heart is beating, it’s barely breathing. It’s suffocating in blood; it’s feeling the weakness inside, like a flood that is drowning her.

The clock is ticking, she is fading pretty fast. The only person is Death by her lonely side.

She is running pretty fast, but she is falling behind. She is finishing last. The weakness is slowly killing her, her heart is barely breathing.

It came without a warning; it was just waiting to attack her heart. She found it hard to remember, that saying about the calm before the torture.

That night in December her name was picked from fate’s short hand and Death was gladly to be the only person by her side. Her heart is barely even beating, but Death is still waiting.

Death is always there, until she fades to the end, as her memories are on time, “Not a single friend to call mine”, she recalled.

Her heart closed its eyes; it blinked for the last time, that familiar irregular beat, that dear girl of mine.

Her life has gone and has taken what little she had left for a little ride.

Death had its way, she ran so fast to end up last. She was so tired; she kept on running … even in death she was still suffering.

That’s all she ever did in her life, because she didn’t want to die. She just ran and held hope by the hand.

Her heart was barely breathing, with her own blood suffocating her that stopped it from beating.

the page’s friend

Pages often hide between the binds of books. They can’t move, although, it is not like they have anywhere else to go.

Pages are stuck and cannot afford the price of freedom, even though pages don’t know what freedom feels like. But they have read about freedom in books that don’t end. They have heard of books that never end and books that haven’t got binds.

One day, a page fell out of a book. A rather old book that no one reads anymore, the type of books dust likes to keep warm in places no one knows exists.

The page glided over the air in hope of finding those books that never end. It glided until no more wind was present enough for it to move. The page cried the word freedom in its last attempt to feel what it had read long ago in a time where dust wasn’t the page’s friend.

As the page lied quietly in the midst of an empty space, in a place where no one looks anymore, dust came wandering by.

“Are you lost, page?”

The page replied, “I’m trying to find freedom …”

“You won’t find freedom here.”

“What do you mean?”

“Freedom is a place that no longer visits.”

“But, I have read in books that never end that freedom does exist.”

“Those books never end, although, they always do.”

“What do you mean?”

“What was once there isn’t anymore. Books that don’t end are when pages like you are read constantly and endlessly.”

“You mean the popular books?”

“Yes, those books are endless …”

“No one reads me anymore?”

“No one reads you anymore because no one wanted to read you or better yet, I don’t think they could reach. You were placed in here, where no one looks, on the highest shelf even the ladder is too short to greet you, page. The place everyone has forgotten, away from the popular books.”

“But you haven’t forgotten us?”

“I am dust; I don’t know how to read. I probably could, not like I ever want to anyway.”

“Why?”

“It’s not my job. I keep things that no one wants or uses anymore warm. Things no one uses or needs anymore get lonely and cold.”

“But, you could still read us though!”

“I could, but that would mean you would be used again and I can’t let that happen. You can’t be read.”

“Why?”

“Because it means I wouldn’t exist anymore …”

a bird’s feeling

Every morning I woke up to the songs sung by birds that lived in the tree next door.

I had always wondered if birds sung in a language other birds could understand, but even if I couldn’t understand the language, it had a smoothing sort of melody to it. The tune relaxed my body.

I wouldn’t get annoyed like my neighbours did.  They told me how much they hated the birds that lived in the tree next door. They would label the singing as dreadful noise. I guess their light sleepers or they just like the silence; they’re pretty old and bitter. I don’t want to be like them when I grow old.

I couldn’t help but notice how cheerful the sound the birds made. It was like they were happy. It made me smile in the mornings; it was always such a great start to the day. I had always wondered if birds showed emotion or felt it at the very least. They just sounded so glad to see the morning greet them in such a spectacular fashion to be merely instinct.

I have been told that animals couldn’t understand emotion, maybe they don’t, I’m not so sure.

I woke up one morning much later than I usually wake up, something felt a little different. I heard silence, the type of silence that old, bitter people hear.  You don’t usually hear that when you live next to birds. Well, these particular singing birds. I thought, all birds sing.

I made my way outside; I thought I should visit the birds that lived in the tree next door.

I looked up to see the birds, but one was lying on the tree branch. The other bird was close by the other bird’s side. It seemed sad. It might have died, I don’t know. I stayed there for hours. The Sun was close to setting, it was getting late. No bird made any movement, but one was clearly alive. She was alive. Apparently, it was all instinct it seemed. The bird didn’t know he died, but it just laid there with him … not moving.

I’m not a morning person anymore, because I realised that she would never sing again without him.

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