Monologue

You know it’s not your usual day when you’re low all day and mess up things even before bed. You know something’s wrong with you when you can’t held your head high. Not because you’re guilty, but because nobody finds you innocent. This could just be a hunch, but I’ve never been more rational. You know how it feels when you’ve been dreaming every day and all you see is your dreams being incinerated. You know it’s difficult to digest when people are multifaceted. You know how it feels when you can’t believe it, but you got to live with it. You know how it feels to be outside the locked door with the wrong key hanging. You know how it feels to be one among the bunch of morons. You know it, and it’s always good to know. Be it for nothing, or worse of things; something’s above nothing. So, I’m a proud hick, proud filthy imbecile.

I can’t stop disappointing people, maybe the only thing I’m good at. It has somehow become a part of ‘to do list’ unintentionally.  I dream and wish to do good things, and start doing good, but I don’t reach there. Such is my fate. I wonder how could this happen every now and then. I’ve got stupidest of tongue, hands and mind; I don’t think my heart is one. Because I know I never intend bad. Tongue is my greatest enemy, a necessary evil. I speak up everything, I don’t see no consequences. Hands, fingers to be precise that types every bit of horseshit. And I swear I have filthiest of mind, I’m a mean minded schnook!

Being doomed is a fiesta. I hate to say this but people love it when you’re doomed. You ask me why? I say, you ain’t alone when you’re doomed. You’re alone to be doomed but every other being around add to the miseries. Well that’s freaking life I guess. When you’re joyous you get thousands of more reasons to celebrate and when you’re down people around you make sure that you fall to the abyss of depths. Gosh! What a world we live in. Cheers to everyone involved to raise the glass with and those who are making my life more disastrous. But hey! I ain’t giving up. Bring on!

I wish I could be harsh sometimes, I really wish. And I mean harsh. Not from my hands, not from my tongue and not from my mind. These are much more familiar now, I wish I could be harsh straight from the heart. God I wish! And why do I have to be so good at forgiving? Why can’t I stand someone else begging sorry in front of me? And why it has to be me who have to lament for days when I’m mistaken. It’s so damn unfair, Life is so freaking unfair. I wonder and laugh at my own idiocy sometimes. I’m absurd to the limits. I know I can’t get all people around me pleased by me. Not a man had ever done that or will ever do. And I ain’t making history anyway by doing one. I can’t understand why on earth I’m so strained when I’m bad to anyone. Why do I have to be good to everyone? Is everyone good to me? Hell No! So why should I be?

And my feelings right now, I feel like crying. I don’t mean weeping; literally crying out all my tears. The waterworks are the liveliest proof that you’re alive, not even laughter as big could make you feel more alive. Gone are the days I changed my pillow cover every single day, not because I am that concerned about the hygiene. But because they had stains. I’d live with it happily, but this world is so into you that it’ll make a story out of it to sell it to the mass. And people will buy it, yes they will. It doesn’t matter whether you want to sell. You’ll not even get to know that it’s sold, you’ll come to know only after you hear it later. Everything can be sold these days, and the things that we considered the most priceless and invaluable in fact are the ones that do not even need to be marketed. We live in the time where feelings are browsed and selected, bought and delivered online. Yes, they mean nothing. We live in the time where tears are packaged and uploaded for sale.

You know it’s not your day when you do all your best to make people feel better and all you end up is upsetting them. What’s the use of your stories when none would listen you? What’s the point in mourning when you’ll not be consoled? What’s the point in having good faith when you’re not graced? What’s the point in having biggest of palaces in the world when you have none to live with? What’s the point in having luxurious Mercedes if it’s left for rusting without being driven? You know how it feels when you do all you could do, and all you get back is tons of guilt in return? Had I been writing on the white sheets, it’d have swollen up and the text size would grow bigger. But we live in the world where texts are inked without ink. My tears ain’t that acidic that a metal or polyester outer of a HP ProBook would suck it in to get itself swollen.

You know it’s not your day when you’re isolated for being good. Goodness pays off, I believe. But not very soon they said, well said. And it wouldn’t surprise me either if it goes unnoticed. Because the time has changed. People see and judge people at instant. They wouldn’t give a shit about nothing. People are so comfortable with the surface that they fear depth.  The world is so phony that only fraudulent survives. All goodness shall perish. Pretending is the new reality. Surface is the core. Appearance is the beauty. Shade is the light. Weakness is the strength. Venom is the antidote. Rejection is the acceptance. People who display love are loved back, not the one who loves. Pretty agreeable though, what’s tangible is the truth.