or....

Get your dream job. Actually, two jobs.

I should bitch to the Universe more often. 

You need to write.
You need to find an inspiration.
You need to find it yesterday.
You will never finish this.
You never finish anything.
What a fucking waste.
I wish I was high on some kind of drugs.
Maybe I could write then.
Yet maybe there's just nothing in there.
Maybe you're actually pretty much useless.
Maybe you'll end up being the embarrassment of the family.
They'll say you wasted your life and avoid looking you in the eye.
You'll grow increasingly more lonely, even lonelier than you are now.
The only person, who will keep talking to you, will be yourself.
You'll look back at your life and think "how did I fuck up like this..?"

No, no.... There - you have it. The root of all of your problems. Negativity. You negative cow. Pull yourself together.

I'll be positive now.

I hope this winter is not as cold as the last one.
I wish hats could look as cool on me as they do on other people.
I wish my wishing wasn't wasted like a wolf's howl, sent to the Moon.

Tomorrow.

Tomorrow.
It all starts tomorrow.
I can not do it today.
Today is not good for it.
Tomorrow.
Tomorrow is such a better day
To do it all.
Yes, tomorrow.
Tomorrow is much easier,
I have some time to borrow.

Tomorrow I start new,
It's a brand new day tomorrow.
Tomorrow is much better than today.
I will do.
I will love.
I will live.
Tomorrow.

Writing.

Sometimes I really, reaaally want to write. I have a million ideas. I need to write them down. I run around, searching for paper, while imaginary characters scream in my ear, requiring my attention.
I'm so excited, my hands are shaking. The characters are now a crowd, in a big dark room, all shouting at me, asking me to pick them, instead of the other one.
I smile at myself, and tell them that if they're lucky, I might pick a few.
I find the pen and run to sit down. I quickly take lid off the pen with my teeth in anticipation, as I notice the characters move. They all run and hide behind closed curtains. Bastards. They were teasing me, promising a beautiful, one of a kind story, but now they're hiding, like kids, giggling, and smiling to each other.
I will never find them.
I run to the curtains and try to tear them off, but there is now a door behind the curtains, and I can hear hurried steps, running away from it. I open the door, and find a concrete wall.

Sometimes I start to wonder, maybe I'm just like those blissfully unaware X-Factor contestants, who sing completely off-key, but are banging their chests, declaring their talent. Maybe I'm one of those.

My silly writings.

I am the end of all ends,
and the beginning of beginnings.
An eternity. A space.
The never-ending sky.

I am what I dare not face.
I am what I hide.
Do not look at me,
For you will not see me;

I live on the inside.

Let's conquer the World.

Those, who do not love, are cowards.

What could be more horrifying and brave, than taking your heart, ripping it out of your chest and handing it over to someone else?

Not being afraid, shouting your love so everyone can hear?

When you feel like not being with that person might actually hurt?

Let's conquer the World.

Strangers.

Once in a while, you randomly meet a person. It could be anywhere. Work, University, a club, the Internet. And then, slowly, you start to get to know each other. You find out you like the same things. Then, that you have the same odd habits.
You start thinking about that person more often. You talk to them more.
Then one day, you realize you cannot spend a day without thinking about them.




And then, they're not strangers anymore.