OF OVER SPEEDING TRUCKS, UNPAID BILLS, HATE MAILS AND NAUGHTY ANGELS.

THIS IS STUPID. ONE OF MY LOW DAY WONDERS. DONT SEND ME HATE MAILS. I HATE THIS TOO BUT IT MAKES ME LAUGH. READ IT AT YOUR OWN RISK.
Tomorrow comes like the over speeding truck and smashes into my face leaving me with scars cut deeper than I could feel. Nothingness came and left me a blank note for tomorrow. It said, ‘this is all your bleeding tomorrow offers you. Your faithlessness has to pay its price and this is all I give. Rot alone you moron!’ and I cried for water is free and feelings are not. I had dared to emote and had paid an expensive bill. Hope, the lover chastised me for I wasn’t paying him enough attention. He disappeared one Sunday morning without a goodbye. Sunday I spent in my pool of tears, swimming in them till the taps dried up. Monday was when loneliness came home with me. She stinks, that bloody bitch, but she was the only one who would have me. She reeked of hate, mistrust. But she loved. Boy, the way she sucked on me. Swallowing away every bit of emotion my weakening mind could afford to muster. She blew me every single night, for nights are when she comes to me-slowly, silently. Her raw skin rubbing against mine, her breath filling me with animal energy. She dug herself into me, making me scream into the muted nights. “Stop! Stop! Nooooo!” But no one heard me, no one but her. And she loved it. My weakness, my lack of resistance made her come every night into me. And in the morning when I looked around she was gone, but her smell followed me no matter wherever I went. It intimidated all those who ever thought of moving towards me. She’s one hell of a jealous lover, I say. Then I saw sorrow at one of loneliness’ weekend parties. She sat there smoking, unbothered. I saw that hope had come and left her too. She had that look about her that his scars had made on me. Somewhere deep underneath our clothes, hope had left scars. Scars that couldn’t be seen when he was around, loving, caressing. By now I had realised it was women who loved me. After hope had left me (men, psh!) I had had one night stands with so many femme fatales-misery, pain, anger, frustration… even slept with all of them at once (WARNING: injurious to health) and now sorrow came. We made love in the attic of loneliness’ villa and I knew she was the one I was to be with. We melted into each other when we came together. She sucked well too but never hurting me. Just a pool of tears was all that came after every night together. No pain, no pain at all. And soon we were all over each other. We made love when loneliness was in the kitchen cooking, when I was in bus stands, libraries, trains, subways…I now had two dearly loving mistresses. They knew about each other and didn’t seem to mind.

I thought this was my happy ending. No hateful Monday blues, no terrifying Sunday mornings and no miserable Fridays and Saturdays. Only sorrow and loneliness. They lit my nothingness and made hell seem so much better.
Until one Thursday morning the truck went right over me. That was the last truck I would see.

I am now an angel who has to stand outside God’s mansion, for I came in late and am known here to have slept with one too many bad women.

Can you hear me scream?
(THE AUTHOR WILL NOT TAKE RESPONSIBILITY FOR HEART PROBLEMS CAUSED BY HER REPULSIVE WRITING. I REPEAT, SHE LACKS A SENSE OF HUMOUR AS THE TERM IS DEFINED IN ANY DICTIONARY.)