for a friend, his idea included. criticisms will be appreciated.
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I write this, I write this, in an attempt to look back at my life of twenty four years and find something to live for. Something, anything. Riches, purple satin, threads of gold, a mansion made of brick and glass. Or more superior, non-material possessions, someone to love, care, live for. Besides, myself.

I think of lonely walks through paved streets, under the city's night sky, and glaring streetlights. As if they are shining down on me, burning and fading me out. And of journeys through pebbled pathways, circling through city roads, one studio to another, in the sweltering heat. Of high glossed pictures on once bare walls of shopping malls, shop-doors, magazine advertisements, my futile chance at fame. And my walls at home, with cracks in parts, yellowed, paint peeling, empty.

I think of my family left behind, of childhood memories, living in a hut by the sea, feat soaked in sand, running through the waves, the laughter, the giggling, the embittered goodbye. Of setting up dreams in a brand new city, albeit, with the sand and the sea. Minus the laughter. And seeking solace, in his unruffled dark hair and white tee-shirt. And then, watching him walk away.

Of tear-soaked blankets, desperate trips to dingy, dark rooms, fleeting attempts, to pick up a dying career. Somehow, struggling to stand my ground. And for every ground I traversed, there was still no one. No shadow lurking behind me, no happiness around the corner.

I pick up distant memories, and let them fall. And then, as often, the voices come. In my head, pulling at me, running through my veins, shrouding me further in obscurity. I pick up the metal on glass bottle, un screw the round cap; my fingers trace is its hard insides. I pick one, and let it fall. Another, and I hesitate. And then, I swallow them all. And run, run, between the four falls, picking up the lone wooden chair, crushing it against the wall.

Until, I fall. My eyes are blurring. Soon I will not see. And so, I write this here, as testament, to my life led in misery.

Goodbye. To all of you, who will hear, and bury my decaying body.

And not one, of you, who came to me in my life, to bury my insecurities.