I’m just a lonely shit, and all I do is smoke, get fat, drink cheap, sediment-ridden wine, take my antidepressants, drink my cough syrup and trip on a downer now and then. I live in a lonely shitty apartment in an overcrowded neighborhood where the traffic flits around like mosquitoes, where people have lives and jobs and pay the rent and fuck. I mooch off my parents and make demands, and then write pop-existential rants. Women don’t give me a second glance anymore because my paunch is repulsive. I go, unshaven, unkempt and with uneven hair to the cheap, shitty little cigarette shop and buy a pack of Marlboro every day. I then binge drink energy drinks and coffee and when a rush of mania overwhelms like a fierce gale (allow me to use a slightly archaic, poetic term) and destroys my ramshackle consciousness and I’m left with the subconscious detritus that cyber-junkies and video game connoisseurs who play RPGs like they’re eating caviar have, I write and write and write some more. Just give me my pills – red, blue, white, and I’ll exist in my shitty space devoid of the sun, moon, stars and the rain. Just give me my booze and alter my consciousness; make me fucking hazy; make me fucking lazy; make everything fucking hazy; make everything fucking lazy. Go on then, give up on me. I’m a Bipolar freak after all with a mind sharp with lunacy like a Tungsten needle. Go on then, throw me in the void without saying goodbye because greetings are overrated like cheesy Hallmark Cards. Go on then, beat me because I can’t fight. I’ll just cower like a kitten trapped by a bunch of Alsatians. I can’t scratch, claw or bite. So, go on then, stereotype me and say I threw away my existence, and take pleasure as your words cut right through wine-soaked reverie and I’m no longer walking rosy boulevards, but clawing my way up the seven stages of Hell. Go on then, finish what you started. I gave up on everything, and I’ll just kneel waiting for your shitty sword to do its shitty job.

© Nitin Lalit Murali (2018)

45 responses

    • Couldn’t agree more with this. Your writing is torrential, coming straight from your heart, so honest, touching and hearfelt. I have never seen you face-to-face and do not really care about your physical appearance for what counts is the soul and yours is very beautiful. Thank you so much for sharing this brilliant piece!

  1. Oh you beautiful soul, my brother. I don’t care what you look like or if the mania takes over, I won’t give up on you. You know how I feel about the drinking, though….

      • I was just joking – but you can take my comment seriously if you want. She is not a poet’s arsehole and I’m surprised you might think she has any worth as a poet. She’s a joke. Go work for some Birthday Card factory. Bye bye.

      • Oh it’s just one of those things Bruce. When you’re mind is riddled with thoughts and you don’t want to read metaphysical Donne comparing the parting of lovers to a compass needle. You just want to read something that makes you go, ‘Oh. That’s so beautiful!’ Even if it’s cheesy, which is why I have both progressive rock and bubblegum pop on my playlist!

      • Yeah… I guess you’re right. I was in one hell of a shitty mood when I wrote the response – so I’m sorry. Steiner Rice wasn’t the poetess I was particularly looking for at the time. Sorry to take it out on you.

      • I have never read much of her stuff, but my sister, who has had all kinds of mental health issues as a consequence of her epilepsy and treatments etc, really likes and appreciates her writing. It’s given her peace at times when she has really needed it, when she literally didn’t have the capacity to digest anything else. So it helped me to understand its place as well.

      • Yeah poetry can be something simple and inspirational too. And if it did that to her, then I wouldn’t call it anything else but art. And good art. She may not be everybody’s taste but we already live in a fractured world and what’s the point in critiquing, critiquing and critiquing some more. Thank you for this comment Vanessa. It really made me pause and think.

  2. i wasn’t sure if this was your voice or someone else’s, but it is written beautifully no matter whose voice you are using. though i do agree with “the stories in between” about switching to rolling your own (i recommend american spirits tobacco) and whiskey. or maybe some beer. i do IPA because the hoppy hops knife right through my anxiety.
    i think we can all relate to this post on some level.
    all of us misfits frantically scribbling down our thoughts as if it will save our lives.<3

    • This was written mostly in my own voice. I’m thinking of switching to American Spirits and beer. Yeah I guess any misfit can relate to this post. Thank you so much for your kind words.

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