Sleep, it existed, but in the godforsaken hours of the morning when the moon shone bright so did the creative storm in his godforsaken head. Four hours and the chaotic tones of his alarms would be dragging him to life as the same questions would haunt him ‘Why?’ or more precisely ‘Why did life fuck him over?’
His laptop was taking a small ice age to boot up, despite the fact he only needed one bloody program to work but just like his genius brain it never seemed to work when it was most needed, the piles of paperwork and crap that had just been propelled across the depressingly cluttered floor with an angry kick a fitting testimony to the ageless anger it summoned from within. The pointlessness of all those pieces of paper matched the idiocy of a creative genius without the confidence to showcase his work!
Another rage fuelled fist impacted the wardrobe door, venting an unnoticeably small portion of the endless wrath that propelled the second fist, the same endless wrath that led him to the arms of his many demons. That was when the sinking sweet sensation of depression wasn’t there to void the burning suffering that defined his very reason of living.
Should life ever match the seemingly ill-fated attempts to fix his flawed psychology, who knows where he could be with his life, for a blatant start the poison that dwelled deep in the fractured psyche he called a brain would thankfully be out of a job!, the demons would no longer consume his energy as he sunk all his efforts solely into barely successful attempts to keep them in check.
Oddly enough he was again feeling the urge to feverishly cut open his wrists and cheat life of the even slower, more painful death that he seemed condemned to, but knowing life he would survive with the scars so people would ask about them all the fucking time. He was an optimist, honest!!
Having resumed its normal service the laptop’s brightly lit screen with filled with the dark and depressive logic that spilled onto the soon to be hidden away word document, the clinically clean apartment and saintly image he flogged to the masses had no place for such forsaken writings.
The secrets he kept buried of his sub-human nature were at odds with the smiling faces and clenched hands of the couples that looked so fucking happy, the laughter that could be heard from ‘normal’ people that echoed like a banshee’s cry in the hollow void he inhabited.
Three hours before the world would demand the false smile, homed over years watching the fluffy bunny types swan around in the ‘joy of living’, for him it was more agonizing than been roasted alive, in fact that fate seemed more preferable on occasion! His true smile having been seen by so few nobody knew just how much of an act it was that he put on.
He watched the screen fade out to a comfortable black, now acting as a mirror so he could see the socially awkward, emotionally repressed and sheer wall of depression reflected back, an apt portrait of his true feelings towards everything this world represented. At least now he could find a little peace in the hopefully nightmare free sleep he must have earned by now.
And the next time the creative storm would hit, maybe it could be at a more civilised bloody hour!
And if you found that uplifting message of hope bringing a spark to your blackened heart I would recommend this other positive post I wrote: A forbidden post, an emotional glitch, forced to repeat